IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-S) 


.**5^ 


1.0 


I 
I 


1.25 


:  Its  IM 


U   11.6 


HiotograiJiic 
_Scimces 
CarpoHtiQn 


<^ 


V 


23  WBT  MAM  STMIT 

WIMTn,N.Y.  14SM 
(71*)  ■72-4903 


^**% 

# 

V 

V 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/iCMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Inttituta  for  Historical  IVIicroraproductiont  /  Inatitut  Canadian  da  microraproductions  historiquas 


T«chnie«l  and  Dibliographio  NotM/NotM  t«chniquM  at  bibliographiquM 


Th«e( 
totha 


Tha  Inatituta  haa  attamptad  to  obtain  tha  baat 
orioinal  copy  avallabia  for  filmino.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibiiographiealiy  uniqua, 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduction,  or  which  may  aignificantly  changa 
tha  uaual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackad  balow. 


□    Colourad  covara/ 
Couvartura  da  couiaur 


I     I   Covara  damagad/ 


D 
D 


D 


Couvartura  andommagia 

Covara  raatorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvartura  raataur^a  at/ou  paliiculAa 

Covar  titia  miaaing/ 

La  tKra  da  couvartura  manqua 

Colourad  mapa/ 

Cartaa  gtegraphiquaa  an  couiaur 


0   Colourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  biua  or  black)/ 
Encra  da  couiaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  blaua  ou  noira) 

r~n   Colourad  plataa  and/or  iiluatrationa/ 


D 


Pianchaa  at/ou  llluatrationa  an  couiaur 


Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
RalM  avac  d'autraa  documanta 


Tight  binding  may  cauaa  ahadowa  or  diatortion 
along  intarior  margin/ 

Laraiiura  aarrAa  paut  cauaar  da  i'ombra  ou  da  la 
diatortion  la  long  da  la  marga  intiriaura 

Blank  laavaa  addad  during  raatoration  may 
appaar  within  tha  taxt.  Whanavar  poaaibia,  thaaa 
hava  baan  omittad  from  filming/ 
11  aa  paut  qua  cartainaa  pagaa  blanchaa  aJoutAaa 
iora  d'una  raatauration  apparaiaaant  dana  la  taxta, 
maia,  ioraqua  cala  Atait  poaaibia,  caa  pagaa  n'ont 
paa  4t4  fiimtea. 

Additional  commanta:/ 
Commantairaa  auppMmantairaa: 


L'Inatltut  a  microfllmA  la  maiilaur  axamplaira 
qu1l  lui  a  Ati  poaaibia  da  aa  procurar.  Laa  d4taila 
da  eat  axamplaira  qui  aont  paut-Atra  uniquaa  du 
point  da  vua  bibliographiqua,  qui  pauvanv;  modiflar 
una  imaga  raproduita,  ou  qui  pauvant  axigar  una 
modification  dana  la  mAthoda  normala  da  filmaga 
aont  indiquAa  ci-daaaoua. 


D 
D 
D 
Q 
D 
Q 
D 
D 
D 
Q 


Colourad  pagaa/ 
Pagaa  da  couiaur 

Pagaa  damagad/ 
Pagaa  andommagiaa 

Pagaa  raatorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Pagaa  raatauriaa  at/ou  palliculAaa 

Pagaa  diacoiourad,  atainad  or  foxad/ 
Pagaa  dAcolorAaa,  tachatiaa  ou  piquAaa 

Pagaa  datachad/ 
Pagaa  dAtachAaa 

Showthrough/ 
Tranaparanca 

Quality  of  print  variaa/ 
Qualiti  InAgaia  da  i'impraaaion 

Includaa  aupplamantary  matarial/ 
Comprand  du  material  aupplimantaira 

Only  adition  avallabia/ 
Saula  Mition  diaponibia 

Pagaa  wholly  or  partially  obacurad  by  arrata 
alipa,  tiaauaa,  ate,  hava  baan  rafllmad  to 
anaura  tha  baat  poaaibia  imaga/ 
Laa  pagaa  totalamant  ou  partlailamant 
obacurciaa  par  un  fauiliat  d'arrata,  una  palura, 
ate,  ont  4ti  filmiaa  A  nouvaau  da  fa9on  A 
obtanir  la  maiilaura  'maga  poaaibia. 


Tha  in 
poaatt 
of  tha 
fllmin 


Origin 
bagint 
thalai 
aion.  I 
othar 
firatp 
aion.  I 
orilhii 


Tha  la 
ahaH( 
TINUI 


Mapa. 
diffan 
antiral 
bagini 
right  I 
raquir 
mathc 


Thia  itam  la  filmad  at  tha  reduction  ratio  chackad  balow/ 

Ca  document  eat  filmA  au  taux  da  rAductktn  indlquA  ci-deaaoua. 

10X  14X  WX  22X 


26X 


30X 


y 

3 

12X 


lex 


aox 


ux 


32X 


air* 

ditailB 
iu««  du 

modifier 
ig«r  un« 
•  filmag* 


Th«  eopy  flimMl  h«r«  has  baan  raproduead  thanlis 
to  tha  ganarooity  of: 

Library 

Irani  uravwMiy,  rmrDOfouQn 

Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
poaaibia  oonsidariiig  tha  condition  and  lagibiiity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  icaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spaciflcatlona. 


Original  copiaa  in  printad  papar  covers  ara  fllmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printad  oi  illuatratad  imprea- 
sion.  or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  originel  copiea  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printad  or  illustreted  impree- 
slon.  and  ending  on  the  laat  page  with  a  printad 
or  UhMtrated  impreesion. 


uAes 


L'exemplaira  film4  fut  reproduit  grice  A  la 
gAnAroait*  da: 

Ubrary 

Tram  Univardty,  PMtrboroufh 

Lea  images  suhrantas  ont  4t*  raprodultes  svsc  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  de  la  condition  at 
da  le  nettet*  de  raxamplaira  fiim4.  at  an 
conformit<l  avee  las  conditions  du  contrat  da 
filmage. 

Lea  axempiairas  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  90 
papier  est  Imprim4e  sent  fiinis  an  commandant 
par  la  premier  piet  et  en  terminant  solt  par  la 
damlAre  page  qui  eomporte  une  amprainta 
d'impression  ou  d'lliustration.  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Tous  las  sutres  axempiairas 
originaux  sent  filmfe  wn  commen^ant  par  la 
premiere  pege  qui  eomporte  une  empreinte 
d'impreasion  ou  d'iiiustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  damlAre  pege  qui  eomporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  ieat  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^  (meening  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  ▼  (meening  "END"), 
whichever  appilea. 


Un  dee  symboies  suivants  apparattra  sur  la 
darnlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
ces:  le  symboie  — »•  signlfie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  y  signifie  "FIN". 


aire 


IMapa.  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  et 
different  reduction  ratios.  Thcsi  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  bend  comer,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  aa 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartas,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  pauvant  itro 
filmis  A  das  taux  de  rMuction  diffArsnts. 
Lorsque  ie  document  est  trop  grend  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  ciichA,  11  est  fllmA  A  partir 
da  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bes,  sn  prenant  le  nombre 
d'Images  nAcessaira.  Las  diagrammas  suivants 
illustrant  la  mAthode. 


by  errata 
ned  to 

lent 

une  pelure, 

fapon  A 


12  3 


32X 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

I'lUtiiig  «.ut  ti  hund  ho  tuiicheil  her  gi'iitly." 


Page  30. 


FOR 


iHE  OfMPR  POVS  SA^^" 


An. 


I  ,/one$ 


i 


BY 


MARSH  A I  L  SiL 

Aull^n  "/  •'  BeMhfui  Jot 


Charles  H.  Banks~i42o  Chestnut  Street 

1896 


■MMm 


..-^-ifr'^r-^'^-*-'^' 


(uitiiiK  «.ut  it  iiaihl  lie  toiK-heil  liir  »;(iitly." 


Pape  30. 


FOR 


THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


And  Other  Stories 


BY 

MARSHALL  SAUNDERS 

Author  of  "  BeautifiU  Jo*  " 


PHILADELPHIA 

Charles  H.  banes— 1420  Chestnut  Street 

1896 


?s^^^^     .^^svlo 


Copyright  1896  by 
Charlbs  H.  Banis 


A   \ 


i: 


(BratefuIIi;  DeMcateb 

TO 

COLONEL  CHARLES  HENRY  BANES 

OF  PHILADELPHIA 

A  WARM  FRIEND  OF  CHILDREN  AND  TO  HUMANITY 

AT  WHOSE    SUGGESTION    AND    BY  WHOSE 

KIND  ADVICE  AND  ENCOURAGEMENT 

THESE  STORIES  WERE  WRITTEN 


202104 


CONTENTS 


I.  For  the  Other  Boy's  Sake, 7 

II.  Poor  Jersey  City 49 

III.  When  He  Was  a  Boy, 77 

IV.  The  Little  Page, 114 

V.  Her  Excellency's  Jewels, 133 

VI.  Jack,  THE  Minister's  Dog, 159 

VII.  The  Two  Kaloosas,       192 

VIII.  Bunny  Boy, 213 

IX  Ten  Little  Indians, 261 

X.  Jessie's  Debt, 295 

XL  Proud  Tommie, 318 


kii 


alv 

reti 
bet 


WIS 

wh 

t 

♦ric 
you 
tot 

her 
neai 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


DOCTOR  stood  looking  down  at  a  pa- 
tient with  rather  a  concerned  face.  She 
was  quite  an  old  woman  and  he  was 
quite  a  young  man.  She  was  stem  and 
hard,  and  he  certainly  was  one  of  the 
kindest-hearted  young  men  that  ever  lived. 

"  And  you  think  you  are  no  better  this  morn- 
ing, Miss  Rivers  ?  "  he  said  gently. 

"  I*m  never  better,"  she  said  shortly ;  "  I'm 
always  worse." 

"  I  think  if  you  got  about  a  little  more,"  he 
returned  in  a  persuasive  voice,  "it  would  be 
better  for  you." 

"Why?"  she  asked  obstinately.  '*No  one 
wishes  to  see  me,  not  even  the  horde  of  relatives 
who  are  longing  to  get  my  money." 

"You  are  suffering  from  that  disease  called 
'  riches,* "  thought  the  doctor  to  himself.  "  I  wish 
you  were  a  poor  woman,  and  I  would  send  you 
to  the  wash-tub  or  the  scrubbing-bnish." 

Miss  Rivers  laid  her  hands  on  the  wheels  of 
her  invalid's  chair  and  moved  herself  a  little 
nearer  to  the  doctor,  who  was  standing  up. 


8 


FOR  THB  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


"  Young  man,"  she  said  harshly,  "  you  know 
that  I  am  lame,  and  why  do  you  talk  about  my 
getting  out  of  doors  and  exerting  myself.  That 
is  another  reason  for  staying  at  home." 

"  You  could  walk  a  little  if  you  tried,"  he  said, 
"and  you  could  drive." 

"I  am  a  proud  woman,"  she  said  abruptly, 
"  and  you  know  I  am.  Perhaps  some  day  when 
I  get  used  to  this  lameness  I  will  go,  but  not 
yet.  I  am  not  going  to  be  carried  to  places 
where  I  formerly  went  on  my  own  two  feet. 
What  does  it  matter  anyway  whether  I  go  out 
or  not  ?  There  is  nothing  in  this  world  to  live 
for." 

The  young  man  put  up  both  hands  to  his 
head.  "  Dear  me.  Miss  Rivers,  what  a  sentiment 
in  this  world  of  sin  and  sorrow.  One  can  do  so 
much  for  other  people ;  I  wish  I  could  take  you 
on  my  rounds  for  one  day." 

Miss  Rivers  smiled  grimly  at  his  earnestness. 
"  Of  course  there  is  trouble,  young  man,  awful 
trouble ;  but  what  can  one  person  do  to  help  it  ? 
You  had  better  let  things  alone." 

"  I  don^t  believe  that,"  he  said ;  "  let  each  one 
do  a  little  to  help  his  neighbor,  then  the  world 
will  get  better." 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Miss  Rivers ;  "  go  where 
you  can  do  some  good  and  don't  waste  any  more 
time  on  me.     We  never  agree  about  anything." 

The  young  man  smiled  at  her,  and  shaking 
his  head  went  slowly  down  a  carved  staircase 
muttering  to  himself :  "  The  curse  of  the  world 
is  selfishness.     I  wish  I  could  do  something  to 


IE 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


you  know 

about  my 

lelf.    That 


»> 


I,"  he  said, 

i  abruptly, 

day  when 

:o,  but  not 

to  places 

two  feet. 

•  I  go  out 

rid  to  live 

ids  to  his 

sentiment 

can  do  so 

I  take  you 

irnestness. 

an,  awful 

o  help  it  ? 


:  each  one 
the  world 

'  go  where 
any  more 
nything." 
shaking 
staircase 
he  world 
ithing  to 


rouse  that  woman  from  her  unhappy  condition. 
She  is  getting  worse  and  worse." 

Dr.  Jeffrey's  next  visit  was  to  a  small  and 
miserable  house  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town. 
He  drew  up  his  sleigh  in  front  of  a  broken  gate, 
lifted  out  a  weight  which  he  attached  to  his 
horse's  head,  then  strode  up  a  narrow  path  lead- 
ing to  the  door. 

It  was  a  chilly,  disagreeable  day  and  the  chil- 
dren of  the  house  were  playing  indoors.  They 
were  all  ragged  and  dirty,  and  they  hung  over  a 
still  more  ragged  and  dirty  baby  whose  fingers 
were  red  and  chilled  and  half  buried  in  a  frozen 
squash  that  he  was  pulling  to  pieces  and  throw- 
ing about  him. 

The  air  was  full  of  laughing  exclamations,  for 
the  children  were  a  happy,  jolly  set  in  spite 
of  their  rags  and  squalor.  An  untidy-looking 
mother  stepped  in  a  leisurely  fashion  about  the 
room,  lifting  pots  and  pans  and  occasionally 
stirring  the  fire  in  a  rusty  stove. 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  standing  on  the 
threshold,  "why  have  you  sent  for  me,  Mrs. 
Jackson  ?  You  all  seem  pretty  well  this  morn- 
ing." 

The  woman  turned  her  sooty  face  toward  him. 
"  It's  Sammy,  doctor ;  he  has  brown  kittis  in  his 
throat,"  and  she  pulled  aside  a  woolen  shawl 
from  a  child  who  lay  on  a  low  bed  in  the  comer. 

The  doctor  stepped  up  to  him.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  to  him?  This  does  not  look 
like  bronchitis." 


zo 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY*S  SAKE 


"  Yes,  sir ;  *tis  brown  kittis,"  said  the  woman 
convincingly.  "  I  tried  to  make  cough  medicine 
from  a  receipt  in  the  paper  and  sent  to  the  drug- 
store for  potash,  and  the  druggist  he  sent  me 
something  that  I  put  in,  but  Sammy  was  that 
sick  I  thought  he  was  pisened  and  the  druggist 
came  running  up  and  snatched  the  bottle  and 
threw  all  the  stuff  out  on  the  snow  and  gave 
Sammy  some  flaxseed  tea." 

"  Where  did  he  throw  it  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

Mrs.  Jackson  pointed  to  a  snowbank  near  the 
door  and  the  doctor  stepped  out  to  examine  it. 

When  he  came  back  he  had  some  red  crystals 
on  a  bit  of  paper. 

"  Is  it  pisen  ?  "  asked  the  woman  eagerly. 

"  We  won't  say  what  it  is,  as  the  grains  did  not 
all  dissolve,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  now  let  me  see 
my  patient  again." 

While  the  gentleman  sat  with  the  child's  dirty 
wrist  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  wandered  around  the 
roughly  plastered  room  where  hung  various  torn 
garments,  a  clock  that  was  six  hours  too  fast, 
and  a  number  of  tools  and  household  utensils. 

"Are  you  happy,  Mrs.  Jackson?"  he  said, 
turning  suddenly  to  her. 

The  woman  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Yes, 
sir;  'specially  if  my  man  doesn't  get  out  of 
work." 

"  Strange,"  said  the  doctor  to  himself ;  then  he 
said  aloud,  "  Can't  you  keep  your  house  a  little 
more  tidy  ?  " 

"  Bless  you,  sir,  I'll  try  when  the  children  are 
riz.     What  could  you  make  of  this  muddle  with 


FOR  THE  OTHER  30Y*S  SAKE 


II 


six  of  them  underfoot  and  a  frozen  gutter  and 
two  banks  of  snow  to  cross  to  fetch  every  drop 
of  water  you  use.  Do  you  think  that  you  could 
do  any  better  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  could,"  and  the  doctor 
smiled  at  her ;  "  yet  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  be  so 
dirty,  and  most  unwholesome  for  these  chil- 
dren." 

"  If  you  rich  people  would  build  decent  houses 
for  us  poor  ones  we'd  live  better,"  said  Mrs. 
Jackson.  "  Think  of  renting  a  shanty  like  this," 
and  she  looked  disdainfully  around  the  wretch- 
edly built  abode. 

"  Who  is  your  landlord  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  Miss  Rivers,  the  rich  old  miser.  She  owns 
every  house  on  this  road,  and  I  guess  she'd  fall 
down  in  a  fit  if  she  stepped  into  one  of  them." 

"I  guess  she  would,"  muttered  the  doctor, 
then  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  sick  child. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  giving  directions  to 
the  mother  as  to  the  nursing  and  medicine,  when 
there  was  an  outcry  from  the  children,  who  had 
moved  in  a  body  from  the  stove  to  the  small 
window  which  they  were  daubing  with  their 
squash-streaked  hands. 

"  Mammy,"  exclaimed  the  eldest  boy,  "  here's 
a  coach  afore  the  door  and  the  doctor's  horse  is 
nipping  at  the  coach  horses." 

Mrs.  Jackson  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

"  Mercy  on  us,"  the  doctor  heard  her  say,  then 
she  stood  stock-still  in  the  doorway. 

Presently  she  held  out  her  hand,  took  hold  of 
a  small  boy  who   was   walking  up   the   path 


za 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


toward  her,  and  silently  ushered  him  into  the 
room. 

The  doctor  looked  curiously  at  him.  Such  a 
strange  little  figure  stood  before  him.  He  could 
not  guess  Ihe  lad's  age,  for  he  was  deformed. 
There  was  a  lump  on  his  back,  and  his  pale, 
thoughtful  face  was  set  deeply  between  his 
shoulders.  His  expression  was  composed,  criti- 
cal, and  curiously  unchildish  as  he  looked  about 
the  comfortless  abode. 

"  Now,  who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  woman  in 
quiet  desperation. 

"  I'm  Jeremiah  Gay,  your  nephew,"  said  the 
boy,  rolling  his  grave  black  eyes  up  at  her. 

"And  your  mother's  dead  and  you've  been 
sent  to  live  with  me,  haven't  you?"  pursued 
Mrs.  Jackson  in  a  still  more  desperate  tone  of 
voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  boy,  "  if  I  don't  crowd  you," 
and  he  surveyed  the  somewhat  limited  space 
about  him  with  a  smile. 

"  This  is  a  boy  that  has  some  sense  of  humor," 
murmured  the  doctor. 

"  Now,  doctor,  just  look  here,"  said  Mrs.  Jack- 
son in  a  tearful  voice ;  "  look  at  that  boy's  good 
clothes  and  the  little  bag  of  him,"  pointing  to 
the  portmanteau  on  the  floor,  "and  look  at  the 
children  of  me,"  pointing  to  the  ragged,  gaping 
group  at  the  window,  "  and  ask  yourself  if  it's 
fair.  Where  am  I  to  put  him  ?  What'll  I  feed 
him  on  ?  I  suppose  you're  used  to  silver  spoons 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  aren't  you,  sonny  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Aunt  Martha,  there  are  six  in  my 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


13 


» 


» 


bag  and  a  silver  mug — I  always  drink  out  of 
it." 

"  Oho,  oho,  he's  the  very  double  of  my  sister 
that's  dead  and  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Jackson,  sud- 
denly throwing  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  I'll 
never  see  her  again,"  and  dropping  on  a  stool 
she  rocked  to  and  fro. 

"  My  mother  is  in  heaven,  living  with  God," 
said  the  little  boy ;  "  don't  cry,  she  wouldn't  be 
happy  if  she  were  here." 

Mrs.  Jackson  snatched  her  apron  from  her 
head.  "  Oh,  it's  scorning  me  you  are,  is  it  ?  I 
guess  I'm  as  good  as  anybody." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  how  my  mother  died?" 
asked  the  boy,  fixing  his  solemn  eyes  on  her. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Jackson.  "  Tell  me  the 
whole  of  it ;  I've  not  heard  a  word." 

"  She  lay  on  her  bed  and  cried,  '  Lord  Jes"3, 
come  and  take  me  quickly,'  "  said  the  boy.  "  Her 
body  was  full  of  pain.  I  put  ice  on  her  forehead 
and  she  begged  me  not  to  cry.  I  think  it  would 
be  wrong  to  wish  her  back.  I  cry  to  go  to  her 
sometimes,  not  for  her  to  come  to  me." 

There  was  a  hush  for  a  few  minutes  in  the 
tiny  house.  Even  the  children  were  awed  by 
the  boy's  sweet  voice  and  the  sudden  spiritual 
beauty  that  lit  up  his  face. 

"  Who  was  your  mother,  and  from  what  place 
do  you  come?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  My  mother  was  a  widow,  and  she  lived  in 
Riverfield,"  said  the  boy,  mentioning  a  country 
place  a  hundred  miles  distant  from  the  town 
they  were  near.     "  We  had  a  little  house  by  the 


\ 


14 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY*S  SAKE 


river.  My  father,  who  is  dead,  was  a  carpenter, 
and  my  mother  took  in  sewing  for  a  living." 

"  And  now  you  have  come  to  live  with  your 
aunt,"  pursued  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

The  child's  lip  quivered,  then  he  said  bravely, 
"  I  suppose  so — ^the  neighbors  sent  me  here." 

He  was  plainly  but  neatly  dressed.  His  cuffs 
and  collar  were  beautifully  white,  and  the  little 
handkerchief  peeping  from  his  pocket  was  like 
a  bit  of  snowdrift 

"  He  can't  stay  in  this  wretched  place,"  thought 
the  doctor,  "and  never  having  seen  the  people 
before  he  hasn't  any  attachment  for  them.  I 
wonder  if  I  can  help  him.  Mrs.  Jackson,"  he 
said,  rising,  "suppose  I  take  this  small  boy 
away  for  a  few  days  till  you  get  things  straight- 
ened out  here  or  else  move  into  a  better  house. 
I  will  see  Miss  Rivers'  agent." 

"  May  God  bless  you,  sir,  for  a  gentleman  and 
a  man  of  heart,  as  well  as  a  good  doctor,"  said 
the  woman  enthusiastically. 

"  Never  mind  thanking  me,"  said  the  doctor, 
drawing  the  skirts  of  his  coat  away  from  the 
eager,  grasping  hands,  "  unless  you  wish  to  do  so 
by  keeping  your  house  a  little  more  tidy.  Come 
along,  little  boy — ^what  is  your  name — ^Jeremiah 
what?" 

"  Jeremiah  Gay,"  said  the  boy,  looking  at  him 
with  grateful  eyes. 

"Rather  a  contradiction  of  terms;  however, 
Jeremiah  Gay  give  me  your  bag.  Good-morn- 
ing, Mrs.  Jackson,"  and  the  doctor  with  a  last 
look  at  his  patient  left  the  house. 


FOR  TH9  OTHBR  BOY'S  SAKE 


15 


him 


"  Now  that  I  have  got  you,  my  young  white  ele- 
phant," said  the  doctor  looking  at  the  boy  seated 
beside  him  in  the  sleigh,  "  what  am  I  to  do  with 
you  ?  " 

Jeremiah  said  nothing,  but  continued  to  gaze 
straight  ahead  of  him  with  clasped  hands  and  a 
radiant  face. 

"Why  do  you  look  so  pleased?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"Is  it  wrong  for  me  to  be  happy  because  I 
have  left  my  aunt  ?  "  asked  the  child. 

"  No,  under  the  circumstances  I  don't  think 
it  is,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  We  were  always  poor,  my  mother  and  I," 
said  the  boy,  "but  we  were  always  clean." 

"You  have  been  well  brought  up;  your 
mother  must  have  been  a  superior  woman." 

"  She  was  the  best  mother  a  little  boy  ever 
had,"  said  Jeremiah.  "  Sometimes  when  I  think 
of  her  it  seems  as  if  everything  was  gone." 

"  Poor  child,"  muttered  the  young  man  ;  then 
he  said  aloud:  "Well,  what  am  I  to  do  with  you? 
I'm  exceedingly  busy  this  morning.  I  think  I 
will  drop  you  at  my  hotel  and  later  in  the  day  I 
will  look  up  a  place  for  you." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Jeremiah ;  then  he  con- 
tinued to  watch  with  interest  the  numbers  of 
people  passing  along  the  streets.  Presently  the 
doctor  heard  him  murmur,  "  Is  it  a  picnic  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  his  friend,  "  that  is  a  horse  car,  a 
public  conveyance  to  take  people  about  the  city. 
Have  you  never  seen  one  before  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  the  boy  turning  his  head  to  look 


i6 


FOR  TUK  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


after  it.  "  I  made  sure  it  was  a  picnic  wagon. 
It  looks  so  merry  to  see  the  horses  trotting  along 
and  to  hear  the  bells  ringing." 

"  Some  day  you  shall  go  in  one,"  said  the  doc- 
tor. "  Here  we  are  at  the  hotel.  Can  yon  jump 
out  alone  ?  " 

Jeremiah  stepped  carefully  to  the  sidewalk  and 
very  quietly  but  with  great  curiosity  followed 
his  guide. 

There  were  no  hotels  in  Riverfield ;  he  had 
never  seen  anything  like  this  before  and  he 
gazed  in  intense  admiration  at  the  mirrors,  the 
potted  plants,  the  comfortable  seats,  the  well- 
dressed  people,  and  above  all  the  smart  bell  boys 
about  him. 

Without  saying  a  word  and  with  admirable 
control  of  himself  he  kept  close  to  his  friend  end 
with  only  an  occasional  glance  at  the  trim  lad 
behind  who  was  carrying  his  bag  he  entered  the 
elevator  which  he  imagined  was  a  small  and  sta- 
tionary waiting  room. 

The  shock  to  his  nervous  system  when  it 
started  was  considerable.  With  a  startled  "  Oh," 
of  dismay,  he  grasped  Dr.  Jeffrey's  hand. 

The  young  man  looked  kindly  down  at  him. 
*'  I  beg  your  pardon,  small  boy,  I  should  have 
warned  you,  but  I  forgot  that  you  were  probably 
unused  to  these  things." 

"  What  makes  it  go  ?  "  gasped  Jeremiah  in  the 
midst  of  his  fright. 

While  the  doctor  was  explaining  the  motive 
power  to  him  they  halted  and  stepped  out  of  it 
to  traverse  more  halls. 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


17 


Jeremiah's  pale  face  flushed  with  sudden  de- 
light when  the  door  of  a  handsome  suite  of 
rooms  was  thrown  open.  He  had  never  in  his 
life  seen  anything  so  beautiful  as  this.  The  sun- 
light was  pouring  in  through  silk  curtains  and 
shining  on  fine  pictures,  soft  carpets,  and  best  of 
all,  on  a  bank  of  real  flowers  blooming  between 
the  two  windows. 

He  went  down  on  his  knees  before  the  flowers. 
"  They  sing  a  hymn  in  the  Riverfield  church," 
he  said  with  enthusiasm,  "about  how  fair  the 
lily  grows,  and  how  sweet  the  bloom  beneath  the 
hill  of  Sharon's  dewy  rose " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  Dr.  JefFrey  was  smil- 
ing and  the  bell  boy  was  making  a  face  at  him. 
The  picture  of  the  old  country  church  with  the 
sounding  board  over  the  pulpit  and  the  high- 
backed  seats  faded  away.  He  felt  that  he  had 
gotten  into  a  new  world.  These  people  did  not 
understand  him. 

"I  must  leave  you  now,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  You  can  amuse  yourself  with  the  books  and  the 
pictures  till  I  come  back ;  but  first,  will  you  have 
something  to  eat  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  very  hungry,"  said  Jeremiah  quietly. 

"What  did  you  have  for  breakfast?"  asked 
Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  I  had  none,  sir ;  my  lunch  gave  out  and  I 
thought  I  would  save  my  money." 

"That  won't  do — you  must  have  something 
at  once ;  what  would  you  like  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Jeremiah  slowly,  "I  am  very 
fond  of  bread  and  molasses." 

B 


\8 


FOR  THE  OTHBK  BOY'S  SAKE 


"  Anything  else  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  And  pitcher  tea  to  drink." 

*'  I  don't  know  that  kind  of  tea,"  said  the  doc- 
tor gravely,  "  do  you  ? "  and  he  turned  to  the 
bell  boy. 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Pitcher  tea,"  said  Jeremiah,  "  is  a  jug  full  of 
milk  and  hot  water  with  a  little  molasses  in  it, 
or  sugar  if  you  have  any." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey,  "  see  that  he 
has  some.  Now  is  there  anything  further? 
What  you  have  mentioned  is  not  very  substan- 
tial." 

**  Perhaps  a  little  cold  meat,  if  you  have  some 
to  spare,"  said  Jeremiah  addressing  the  bell  boy, 
"  not  much,  I  am  not  a  hearty  eater." 

"  Bring  him  a  good  lunch,"  said  the  doctor  to 
the  boy,  "  and  have  it  here  in  five  minutes.  I 
want  to  see  him  started  before  I  go  out." 

The  boy  hurried  away  and  the  doctor  turned 
his  attention  to  his  small  guest. 

"  I  believe  I'll  have  lunch  with  you,"  he  said 
when  a  tray  of  good  things  arrived.  "It  is  a 
trifle  early,  but  it  will  save  time,"  and  he  sat 
down  at  a  small  table  with  Jeremiah. 

Half  an  hour  he  remained,  alternately  eating 
and  questioning  the  quaint  little  lad  opposite 
him. 

Jeremiah's  solemn  black  eyes,  his  old-fash- 
ioned, droll,  and  often  pathetic  manner,  and  his 
pitiable  deformity  made  him  the  oddest  speci- 
men of  boyhood,  that  he  had  ever  seen. 

*'  You  are  a  queer  lad,"  said  the  doctor  finally. 


FOR  THB  OTHER  BOY*S  SAKE 


19 


throwing  his  napkin  on  the  table  and  getting  up ; 
(>  you  make  me  forget  the  lapse  of  time  about  as 
well  as  anybody  I  know.  Good-bye  for  the 
present.     You  will  see  me  later  in  the  day." 

Then  he  went  away  and  straightway  forgot  all 
about  the  little  lad  in  his  rush  of  work. 

Jeremiah  left  alone  made  a  tour  of  the  rooms. 
While  crossing  the  doctor's  dressing  room  he 
stopped  short  with  a  cry  of  pain.  Did  he  look 
like  that? 

He  had  never  before  obtained  a  full  view  of 
himself.  There  was  the  cruel  folding  glass 
before  him  revealing  so  plainly  his  stunted 
figure  and  the  hump  on  his  back.  He  threw 
himself  on  a  sofa  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

He  was  aroused  by  a  long  low  whistle  of  sur- 
prise. The  bell  boy  had  come  to  take  away  the 
lunch  dishes  and  looking  for  Jeremiah  and  find- 
ing him  in  such  a  position  had  naturally  con- 
cluded that  he  was  ill. 

Jeremiah  sprang  up  and  stared  at  him. 

"  What's  up  with  you,  kid  ?  "  asked  the  boy 
not  unkindly. 

Jeremiah  hesitated — ^then  he  thought  of  a  big 
word  that  his  school  teacher  used  in  speaking 
of  her  pupils  when  there  was  a  falling  short  in 
any  way  of  a  desired  standard,  "  I  am  thinking 
of  my  deficiencies,"  he  said  bravely. 

"  Oh,  are  you,  though,"  said  the  other  boy,  not 
quite  sure  of  himself. 

Jeremiah  did  not  wish  to  pursue  the  subject. 
He  glanced  about  the  dressing  room  then  out 


ao 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


into  the  bedroom  beyond,  where  there  was  a  big 
double  bed. 

"Who  is  the  other  party  that  shares  these 
rooms  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  businesslike  air. 

**  What  other  party  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  The  man  that  lives  with  Dr.  Jeffrey  ?  " 

"  You^re  the  only  man  that  I  know  of,"  was 
the  reply;  "what  a  game  question.  Did  you 
think  the  doctor  had  some  one  in  with  him  ?  " . 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeremiah  slowly. 

"  Why  some  of  the  people  in  the  hotel  have 
more  rooms  than  this,"  said  the  boy.  "  This  is 
a  little  suite  compared  to  them." 

Jeremiah  said  nothing ;  he  was  beginning  to 
learn  many  things. 

"  Say,  who  is  your  tailor?  "  asked  the  boy  con- 
fidentially. 

Jeremiah  glanced  at  the  neat  black  suit  that 
his  mother  had  made  and  that  had  been  consid- 
ered ultra-fashionable  in  cut  and  fit  in  River- 
field,  but  which  somehow  or  other  did  not  com- 
pare favorably  with  the  bell  boy's  snug  livery. 

He  was  about  to  give  to  his  new  friend  in  a 
confiding  manner  the  history  not  only  of  his 
garments  but  of  all  his  personal  affairs,  when  a 
distant  bell  rang.  It  made  the  bell  boy  jump 
and  set  to  work  at  his  delayed  task  of  clearing 
away  the  dishes  with  a  strange  exclamation  that 
Jeremiah  had  never  heard  before. 

"  I  am  becoming  the  most  forgetful  person  in 
the  world — that  boy  has  quite  slipped  my  mind," 
exclaimed  Dr.  Jeffrey,  at  ten  o'clock  that  night. 


\ 


!:■ 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


ai 


He  was  standing  In  the  library  of  an  older 
physician  where  they  had  withdrawn  for  a  little 
private  conversation.  Dr.  JefiFrey  had  suddenly 
started  up  and  struck  himself  a  smart  slap  on  the 
chest 

"  A  patient  ?  **  asked  his  friend. 

**  No— «  waif  I  picked  up.  Good-night,  I  must 
get  home  and  see  to  him.  I  left  him  in  my 
rooms.  He  may  have  wandered  away,'*  and  he 
shook  hands  with  his  friend  and  hastened  from 
the  house. 

With  quick  steps  he  walked  along  the  street, 
entered  the  hotel,  and  hurried  upstairs  to  his 
rooms. 

Where  was  Jeremiah  ?  Ah !  there  curled  up 
in  a  little  bed  that  the  doctor  had  ordered  to  be 
put  in  his  dressing  room,  his  head  a  dark  silky 
spot  on  the  pillow. 

He  lifted  his  head  when  he  heard  the  doctor 
coming.     "  Ah,  it  is  you,  sir,"  he  said  quietly. 

**Yes,  did  you  think  that  I  had  forgotten 
you?" 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  was  listening  for  your  step." 

There  was  something  very  pitiful  about  the 
little  face  upraised  to  him  and  Dr.  JefiFrey  with- 
out knowing  why  he  did  so  felt  his  heart  touched 
with  a  sudden  and  quicker  sympathy.  He 
seemed  to  feel  himself  a  small  deformed  child 
alone  in  a  big  hotel,  alone  in  the  world,  no  one 
to  cling  to  but  a  comparative  stranger,  and  for 
that  stranger's  returning  footsteps  he  lay  listen- 
ing alone. 

'*  You  have  been  crying,"  he  said. 


aa 


FOR  THB  OTHER  BOY*S  SAKE 


i 


"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jeremiah  quietly,  "  and  I  was 
very  sorry  for  I  could  not  see  to  read  my  verses. 
Both  my  eyes  felt  as  if  they  had  gone  swimming 
in  the  river.  Perhaps  if  you  are  not  in  much  of 
a  hurry  to  go  to  bed  you  will  read  to  me." 

With  a  queer  smile  Dr.  Jeffrey  took  the  little 
Bible  that  Jeremiah  drew  from  under  his  pillow 
and  turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  hands.  Eliza- 
beth Gay  was  written  on  the  fly  leaf.  He  had 
seen  his  own  mother  handling  just  such  a  Bible, 
and  the  worn  black  covers  and  the  marked 
places  took  him  suddenly  back  to  his  boyhood 
when  he  had  stood  by  that  mother's  knee  and 
listened  to  her  calm  voice  that  he  would  never 
hear  again  in  this  world. 

"  It  was  a  wedding  present  to  my  mother," 
said  Jeremiah ;  **  she  said  it  was  the  best  one  she 
got,  and  the  one  she  loved  the  most." 

"  Where  shall  I  read? "  asked  the  young  man 
abruptly. 

"  Anywhere — ^it  is  all  good." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  began  the  twenty-first  chapter  of 
Revelation,  "And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a 
new  earth."  When  he  reached  the  fourth  verse, 
"  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither 
sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any 
more  pain,  for  the  former  things  are  passed 
away,"  Jeremiah  said,  "  Thank  you,  sir.  I  shall 
sleep  happy  with  those  words  in  my  mind." 

"Good-night,"  said  the  doctor.  "You  are 
quite  comfortable,  are  you  ? ." 

"  I  am  the  most  comfortable  little  boy  in  the 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


23 


world,"  said  Jeremiah  sedately.  "  This  is  a  very 
good  bed  and  I  can  go  to  sleep  now  that  you 
have  come  home." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  white  lids  drooped  over 
the  big  black  eyes,  and  in  a  few  moments  the 
young  man  standing  over  him  saw  that  he  was 
far  away  in  the  land  of  dreams. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  in  an  orphan 
asylum?  "  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey  of  Jeremiah  the  next 
morning  over  the  breakfast  table. 

Jeremiah  laid  down  the  piece  of  buttered 
muffin  that  he  was  just  about  to  put  in  his 
mouth.  "  Is  that  a  place  where  crowds  of  little 
boys  and  girls  live  that  have  lost  their  mothers 
and  fathers  ?  " 

"Yes,  that  is  it." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  it  at  all,  thank  you,"  said 
Jeremiah.     "  I  would  rather  live  with  you." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  had  had  breakfast  served  in  his 
own  room,  and  they  were  quite  alone.  At  this 
last  remark  of  Jeremiah's,  which  was  uttered 
with  mingled  boldness  and  longing,  Dr.  Jeffrey 
pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  table  and  laughed 
heartily.  "  You  are  an  odd  child  ;  what  could  I 
do  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  would  b^^ur  little  boy,"  said  Jeremiah, 
"and  drive  aboii|  wkh  you.  I  could  hold  the 
reins  while  you '  make  calls,  and  I  could  run 
errands  for 

^^YoikJu^  a  mind  of    your  own«  haven't 


you  ?  " 
*  sweetness 


ffrey.     "  You 
d  light.'"    . 


are    not    all 


34 


FOR  THB  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKB 


"My  mother  used  to  say  that  I  was  rather 
obstinate,'*  said  Jeremiah ;  "  but  of  course  I  don't 
think  I  am." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  laughed  again,  then  he  said,  "  This 
hotel  would  not  be  a  suitable  place  for  you. 
You  ought  to  have  plenty  of  fresh  air,  and  to 
attend  a  school  every  day  so  that  you  will  be 
fitted  to  support  yourself  when  you  grow  up." 

"  I  could  go  to  school  from  here,"  said  Jere- 
miah. 

"  Well,  we  will  not  decide  upon  anything  just 
now,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey.  "  To  live  one  day  at  a 
time  is  a  very  good  plan.  Finish  your  breakfast, 
then  put  on  your  overcoat  and  see  how  you  like 
driving  about  with  me." 

Jeremiah  gravely  drank  his  coffee  and  rose 
from  the  table.  He  was  very  quiet  as  they  left 
the  hotel  and  drove  out  from  the  crowded  streets 
of  the  town  to  a  broad  avenue  in  the  suburbs. 

"This  is  our  destination,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey, 
stopping  before  a  fine  stone  house  standing  back 
from  the  street  among  snow-covered  evergreens. 
"I  have  only  to  take  some  medicine  to  this 
patient  and  ask  a  few  questions,  then  I  shall 
come  back  to  you." 

Jeremiah  did  not  reply  to  him.  His  eyes  were 
shut,  his  face  pale,  and  just  as  the  doctor  turned 
to  him  he  went  toppling  over  into  the  arms  held 
out  to  receive  him.  "  Poor  little  chap,"  said  the 
young  man,  taking  him  into  the  house.  "  This 
early  morning  drive  is  too  much  for  him.  He  is 
even  more  delicate  than  he  looks." 

He  laid  him  down  on  a  long  monks'  bench  in 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


25 


the  hall,  and  the  servant  who  had  opened  the 
door  hurried  away  for  cold  water. 

Miss  Rivers*  maid  put  her  head  over  the  stair 
railing,  then  came  running  downstairs.  Her 
mistress  wished  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

"It    is    nothing    serious,"  said    Dr.  Jeffrey. 


"  Tell  Miss  Rivers  I  shall  come  up  presently." 

In  ten  minutes  he  was  standing  beside  the  old 
lady's  chair. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  turning  my  house  into 
a  hospital  ?  "  she  asked  with  a  curious  smile. 

"It  was  quite  unforeseen,"  said  Dr.  JeflFrey. 
"I  haven't  much  acquaintance  with  that  frail 
little  lad.  He  had  a  long  coach  journey  yester- 
day, and  I  should  have  kept  him  quiet  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  ^ked  Miss  Rivers. 

"A  very  curious  child,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey. 
And  he  rapidly  sketched  Jeremiah's  history  as 
far  as  he  knew  it. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  him,"  she 
said. 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I  shall  have  to  find  a 
place  for  him  somewhere.  I  daresay  the  best 
plan  will  be  to  send  him  back  to  his  country 
home." 

"  Why  didn't  they  keep  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  fancy  they  are  all  poor  people  with 
large  families  of  their  own.  I  could  arrange  to 
board  him  among  them." 

"  Don't  leave  him  here,"  said  Miss  Rivers  un- 
gracirusly. 

"I  have  no  thought  of  such  a  thing,"  said 


i 


26 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKE 


Dr.  Jeffrey,  looking  at  his  watch ;  "  but  it  will 
not  disturb  you,  will  it,  to  have  him  below  on  the 
bench  for  an  hour  ?  Then  I  will  come  or  send 
some  one  to  take  him  away." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  "  but  don't  let 
it  be  longer." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  had  a  pair  of  very  beautiful  and  ex- 
pressive eyes.  These  eyes  were  suddenly  turned 
on  the  selfish  woman ;  not  in  anger,  but  in  such 
profound  pity  for  her  heartlessness  that  her  own 
cold  gray  eyes  averted  themselves  from  his  gaze, 
and  went  staring  out  of  the  window. 

She  did  not  look  at  him  when  he  left  the 
room.  Quite  silently  she  sat  and  listened  to  his 
footsteps  down  the  staircase  and  through  the 
hall.  He  stopped  beside  the  boy  and  she  could 
hear  a  few  murmured  words.  Then  he  went  out 
and  the  front  door  closed  behind  him. 

She  sat  a  little  longer,  wondering  what  this  boy 
was  like.  Some  vulgar,  red-faced  little  creature 
probably.  Her  maid  could  have  described  him 
to  her  but  she  had  not  thought  to  ask  her. 
There  was  no  one  stirring  in  the  halls,  the  ser- 
vants were  all  downstairs.  She  would  wheel  her 
chair  outside  the  door  and  look  for  herself. 

She  put  out  her  hands  and  guided  herself  care- 
fully over  the  threshold  of  the  door  and  up  to 
the  oaken  staircase  railing.  Then  stretching 
out  her  long  gaunt  neck  she  stared  down  at  the 
little  lad  lying  on  the  bench  below. 

"  O  God,  be  merciful  to  me,"  she  ejaculated, 
dropping  her  head  on  the  hard  wood.  "  Must  I 
live  that  day  over  again  ?  " 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


27 


She  felt  as  if  something  sharp  and  cmel  had 
pierced  her  heart — ^the  callous  heart  that  n6w  so 
seldom  felt  a  flutter  of  joy  or  tremor  of  fear. 

Dr.  Jeffrey  did  not  know,  the  servants  did  not 
know,  no  one  in  the  town  knew,  the  entire  his- 
tory of  a  day  in  her  life  some  thirty  years  before 
when  her  little  nephew,  her  beloved  adopted 
child,  had  been  drowned.  She  could  see  him 
now  lying  on  his  side  on  the  beach,  his  face 
white  and  still,  his  black  hair  drenched,  the  wet 
garments  clinging  to  his  misshapen  back,  for  he 
too  was  deformed. 

She  groaned  as  she  thought  of  that  sad  time 
when  the  light  of  her  life  had  gone  out  and  of 
the  terrible  suffering  it  had  caused  her.  No  one 
had  pitied  her — ^she  would  not  allow  it.  Every 
one  had  thought  her  proud  and  unloving  toward 
the  child  for  whom  she  would  gladly  have  laid 
down  her  life. 

After  a  time  she  raised  her  head.  She  would 
not  have  her  servants  find  her  here,  and  she  must 
look  again  into  the  hall,  for  she  was  interested 
in  this  child  for  the  other  child's  sake. 

He  was  still  lying  on  his  side  and  his  hand- 
kerchief was  still  pressed  to  his  eyes.  She  knew 
by  his  figure  that  his  face  must  be  pale  and  deli- 
cate. He  was  probably  weeping  because  he  had 
fainted.  Poor  friendless  one.  Just  what  the 
other  boy  would  have  done  in  his  place. 

Miss  Rivers  bit  her  lips  and  pressing  her  hands 
nervously  against  the  wheels  of  her  chair  she 
moved  herself  back  into  her  parlor — ^not  care- 
fully as  she  had  come  out,  but  heedlessly  and 


a8 


FOR  THB  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKB 


bruising  one  hand  against  the  door  post  as  she 
entered. 

She  could  not  sit  still  in  the  room.  She 
kept  moving  herself  about  and  at  last  almost 
despite  herself  her  hand  urged  her  chair  in  the 
direction  of  the  hall. 

The  boy  must  have  heard  the  sound  of  her 
comings  and  her  goings  but  he  made  no  sign  and 
lay  there  alone,  his  head  on  his  arm,  his  face 
covered. 

After  some  time  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door 
bell  almost  simultaneously  with  a  ringing  of 
Miss  Rivers*  bell  that  brought  the  housemaid 
rushing  upstairs. 

"  Who  is  below  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

"  Two  men  with  a  carriage,  ma'am ;  they  have 
come  for  the  sick  boy." 

"  Tell  them  to  bring  him  up  here,"  said  Miss 
Rivers. 

The  girl  withdrew  and  went  tripping  down 
the  staircase. 

Miss  Rivers  had  need  of  all  her  self-possession 
when  a  few  minutes  later  a  strange  man  stepped 
into  the  room  with  the  little  figure — alas,  so 
strangely  familiar — ^in  his  arms.  Her  expres- 
sion became  sterner  than  usual ;  she  carefully 
avoided  looking  at  the  boy's  face  and  said 
sharply  to  the  man  carrying  him :  "  Put  him 
down  and  tell  Dr.  Jeffrey  that  he  isn't  fit  to  be 
moved  all  over  the  town  to-day.  I  will  keep  him 
here." 

"The  doctor  told  us  to  keep  him  quiet, 
ma'am,"  said  the  man  hesitatingly. 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


29 


*^  Well,  can  I  not  do  it — does  this  look  like  a 
wild  house  ?  "  asked  the  lady.  "  Who  are  you 
that  you  speak  of  quietness?  " 

''I  come  from  the  St.  Barnabas  Hospital, 
ma'am  ;  I  am  a  nurse  there'.'' 

"  Put  the  boy  down  on  that  sofa,"  said  Miss 
Rivers,  "  and  go  away." 

The  man  did  as  he  was  told. 

The  maid  hesitated,  not  knowing  whether  her 
mistress  wished  her  to  go  or  stay. 

"  Finish  your  sewing,"  said  Miss  Rivers  with 
a  wave  of  her  hand ;  "  I  will  ring  when  I  want 
you." 

She  was  now  alone  with  the  boy  and  she  sud- 
denly became  seized  with  a  fit  of  trembling  that 
made  her  turn  her  back  squarely  on  him  and 
wheel  herself  toward  a  window  where  she  sat 
looking  fixedly  out  at  the  snow-covered  trees 
and  the  deep  blue  sky  through  eyes  that  were 
dimmed  with  tears. 

The  other  boy — ^the  other  boy,  how  many  times 
he  had  lain  on  that  sofa  to  rest  his  weary  little 
back ;  how  plainly  she  could  see  him  there  start- 
ing up  as  she  csune  in  with  the  bright  expectant 
look  that  she  thought  she  should  never  see  on 
any  child's  face  again. 

She  must  look  at  this  boy.  She  set  her  teeth 
hard  and  slowly  began  to  turn  her  head. 

Just  as  she  made  this  resolution  Jeremiah  got 
tired  of  lying  on  the  sofa  and  putting  his  feet 
noiselessly  on  the  floor  he  walked  toward  the 
window  where  was  the  very  peculiar  old  lady 
who  was  Dr.  Jeffrey's  patient 


30 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY'S  SAKB 


She  sat  so  strangely  quiet  that  he  was  afraid 
that  she  too  was  ill  and  putting  out  a  hand  he 
touched  her  gently. 

Miss  Rivers  nearly  jumped  from  her  seat 
Just  so  used  the  other  boy  to  come  and  lay  his 
hand  on  hers. 

"  Good  gracious,  child,"  she  exclaimed  breath- 
ing violently  and  resting  her  head  against  the 
back  of  her  chair,  "  you  nearly  frightened  me  to 
death." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Jeremiah  meekly.  "  I 
thought  perhaps  the  faintness  was  catching." 

Miss  Rivers  half  smiled,  then  she  closed  her 
eyes.  Oh,  the  little  patient  face  of  long  ago— 
how  it  was  haunting  her  this  morning.  The 
pathetic,  appealing  expression  that  so  often  goes 
with  deformity  had  been  his.  This  boy  had  it 
too,  but  not  so  plainly  she  was  thankful  to  see. 
She  examined  his  features  carefully,  then  she 
motioned  him  to  go  and  sit  down  at  a  little  dis- 
tance from  her. 

No  one  had  seen  her  wipe  a  tear  from  her  eyes 
for  years  and  she  was  determined  that  she  should 
not  be  observed  doing  so  now. 

Jeremiah  picked  up  a  magazine  lying  on  the 
table  and  was  quietly  turning  over  the  leaves 
when  he  caught  sight  of  a  sober  gray  cat  enter- 
ing the  room.  He  was  half  hidden  by  the  cur- 
tain and  the  cat  did  not  see  him.  She  walked 
purringly  up  to  her  mistress  and  sprang  on  her 
lap. 

Jeremiah  was  very  fond  of  animals  and  start- 
ing up  he  moved  to  a  seat  nearer  Miss  Rivers. 


FOR  THS  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


31 


The  cat  caught  sight  of  him  and  terribly 
alarmed  at  the  appearance  of  a  stranger,  and  a 
boy  at  that,  in  a  room  where  no  stranger  had 
come  for  years  she  sprang  wildly  on  Miss  Rivers* 
shoulder,  sticking  her  claws  in  her  dress  and  so 
frantically  pulling  at  a  kind  of  head  dress  the 
old  lady  wore  that  it  was  torn  from  its  place  and 
fell  bodily  to  the  floor. 

Miss  Rivers  made  a  half-angry  exclamation. 
The  cat  mewed  while  Jeremiah  ran  to  the  back 
of  the  chair  and  politely  picked  up  the  bunch 
of  lace  and  ribbons  with  the  fringe  of  hair  hang- 
ing to  it. 

"There  now,  boy,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  "you 
have  done  a  smart  thing.  I  suppose  you  will  go 
and  tell  every  one  that  I  wear  a  wig." 

Jeremiah  stared  at  the  combination  of  hair  and 
millinery  in  admiring  surprise.  "Is  that  a 
wig? "  he  said.     " I  thought  wigs  were  ugly." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  Miss  Rivers.  "  It  doesn*t 
add  to  my  appearance  to  show  my  bald  head. 
What  did  you  think  wigs  were  like  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  seen  one,"  said  Jeremiah.  "  An 
old  fellovv  in  Riverfield  lost  his  hair  and  he  made 
himself  something  out  of  sheep  skin  and  horse 
hair.     It  did  not  look  like  yours." 

"  Why  didn't  he  send  away  for  one  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Rivers. 

"  He  was  very  poor.  He  kept  geese  for  a  liv- 
ing and  they  used  to  run  away.  I  don't  suppose 
you  have  any  people  here  as  poor  as  he  was." 

"  Haven't  we,"  said  Miss  Rivers.  "  Just  wait 
till  you  see  our  back  streets." 


3a 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


*'  Oh,  I  forgot/*  and  Jeremiah^s  face  flushed  iu 
a  pained,  ashamed  way,  '*  I  saw  a  place  yesterday 
that  was  very  bad.  We  have  nothing  in  River- 
field  like  it" 

"  Where  was  it  ?  "  asked  Miss  Rivers. 

''  It  was  my  aunt's  house,"  said  Jeremiah  in  a 
low  voice. 

*'  Oh,  indeed ;  tell  me  about  it,"  said  Miss 
Rivers. 

Jeremiah  described  to  her  the  miserable  home 
that  he  had  seen,  and  Miss  Rivers  said  nothing, 
though  she  eyed  him  keenly  while  he  was  speak- 
ing. 

*^  Now  go  and  lie  down  again,"  she  said  when 
his  story  vi^  finished. 

"  I  don't  feel  weak  now,"  said  Jeremiah. 

"  Never  mind ;  get  on  the  sofa.  When  a  per- 
son faints  it  shows  weakness.  I  shall  have  an 
egg  beaten  up  in  a  glass  of  milk  for  you  pres- 
ently.    Have  you  ever  fainted  before  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes;  often,"  said  Jeremiah.  "I  don't 
mind  it ;  it  is  just  like  going  to  sleep,  only — 
only,"  and  his  face  clouded,  "  boys  don't  faint,  it 
is  a  girl's  trick." 

"You  will  outgrow  it,  probably,"  said  Miss 
Rivers,  "  if  you  will  do  as  you  are  told,"  and  she 
stretched  out  one  of  her  long  lean  fingers  in  the 
direction  of  the  sofa. 

"  Tell  me  about  your  home,"  she  said,  "  while 
you  are  resting.     Was  it  a  town  or  a  village  ?  " 

"They  call  it  a  settlement,"  said  Jeremiah. 
"  There  are  only  a  few  houses  there,  and  we  all 
know  each  other,  and  no  one  is  in  a  hurry,  and 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


33 


the  river  is  beautiful.  It  makes  me  think  of  the 
beautiful  river  of  Zion.  The  houses  are  built 
beside  it;  and  there  are  two  mills  and  a  dam 
with  a  ladder  for  the  salmon  to  go  up,  and  we 
used  to  fish  with  rods  and  dip-nets ;  a  fairy  is  a 
good  fly  for  a  dull  day." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Rivers ;  "  I  shall  remember 
that  if  we  go  fishing.  I  daresay  Riverfield  would 
be  a  good  summer  place." 

"  It  is  good  for  the  whole  year,"  said  Jeremiah 
enthusiastically.  "  It  is  the  finest  place  in  the 
world.  I  should  like  to  go  there  to-day,  or 
rather  to-morrow,"  he  added  politely. 

Miss  Rivers  said  nothing,  and  Jeremiah  occu- 
pied himself  by  glancing  about  the  handsome, 
though  somewhat  somberly  furnished  room. 

"  Is  this  your  house  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  "  it  is." 

"  We  have  no  house  as  large  as  this  in  River- 
field,"  said  Jeremiah.  "How  many  head  of 
cattle  have  you  ?  " 

"I  have  neither  cattle  nor  sheep,"  said  Miss 
Rivers  dryly.  "  We  don^t  measure  our  wealth  in 
that  way  in  the  city.     I  own  houses  mostly." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  said  Jeremiah.  "  Then  will  you 
not  give  my  aunt  a  good  one  ?  " 

Miss  Rivers  looked  keenly  at  the  boy.  What 
a  little  confiding  face  it  was — there  was  no  cun- 
ning there. 

"  We  shall  see,"  she  said  shortly.  "  Your  aunt 
may  be  a  fraud." 

"  What  is  a  fraud  ?  "  asked  Jeremiah. 

"  I  am  one,"  said  Miss  Rivers  unexpectedly. 

c 


34 


FOR   THB  OTHBR  BOY*S  SAKB 


Jeremiah  looked  puzzled. 

'*  A  fraud  is  a  cheat,  a  deception,"  said  Miss 
Rivers.  *'  If  I  am  a  fraud  I  am  pretending  to  be 
something  that  I  am  not." 

Jeremiah  laughed  in  a  merry,  guileless  fashion 
that  stirred  Miss  Rivers*  curiosity.  "What  is 
amusing  you  ?  "  she  said. 

Jeremiah  did  not  want  to  tell  her,  but  being 
pressed  to  do  so  he  said  shyly,  "  I  guess  you  like 
to  make  people  think  you  are  cross  when  you 
really  are  not.  You  were  not  mad  with  me 
about  the  cat.     I  saw  through  you." 

Oh,  the  sharp,  quick  insight  of  childhood! 
Miss  Rivers  turned  her  head  aside.  Just  so  had 
the  other  boy  understood  her.  No  matter  how 
peevish  and  forbidding  she  might  be  with  other 
people,  to  her  he  had  always  come  confidingly — 
on  her  sympathies  he  had  flung  himself  and  his 
boyish  troubles.  Strange  that  there  should  exist 
another  lad  like  him. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  for  a  while ;  I  am  tired," 
she  said.  "  I  think  I  will  take  a  nap,"  and 
wheeling  herself  away  from  the  sofa,  she  dropped 
her  head  on  the  cushions  of  her  chair-back. 

Jeremiah  threw  her  a  smile,  and  crossing  his 
legs  lay  on  his  back  staring  up  at  the  gilt  ^ars 
on  the  ceiling. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  Miss  Rivers  fat 
alone  enjoying,  with  a  remarkably  good  appetit€» 
a  grand  dinner  that  was  set  before  her. 

"  Beware  of  dyspepsia,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey,  sud- 
denly appearing  in  the  doorway. 


FOR  TH8  OTHBR  BOV'S  SAKB 


35 


*'  I  shall  have  something  worse  than  dyspepsia 
if  you  upset  my  house  every  day  as  you  did  to- 
day," said  Miss  Rivers  agreeably.  "  Won't  you 
have  some  coffee  ?  " 

♦♦Thank  you — where  is  the  boy,"  and  Dr. 
Jeffrey  seated  himself  opposite  his  patient 

♦♦In  ted — you  need  not  take  him  away  to- 
night. I  suppose  you  never  thought  to  ask  him 
last  night  if  his  feet  were  warm." 

♦♦No,  I  did  not." 

♦♦  Men  don't  know  how  to  take  care  of  children 
—even  if  they  are  doctors,"  said  Miss  Rivers  dis- 
dainfully. ♦♦  They  need  a  woman's  care.  This 
is  a  delicate  lad." 

♦♦Yes,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey.  ♦♦!  am  afraid  he 
won't  live  to  grow  up." 

Miss  Rivers  did  not  raise  her  eyes,  but  her  fin- 
gers that  were  picking  walnuts  began  to  tremble. 
♦♦  Is  it  cold  to-night  ?  "  she  asked  shortly. 

♦♦  Yes,  bitterly  so.    I  fear  the  poor  will  suffer." 

♦♦  By  the  way,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  ♦♦  this  boy  is 
worrying  about  a  poor  family  called  Jackson. 
Do  you  know  who  their  landlord  is  ?  " 

♦♦  You  are,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

Miss  Rivers  did  not  look  surprised.  ♦♦  My 
agent  is  a  hard  man,"  she  said.  ♦♦  I  shall  write 
to  him  to  house  the^e  people  decently." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  sat  for  some  time  talking  to  her 
of  happenings  in  the  town,  then  he  arose  to  go. 
♦♦  Shall  I  send  for  the  boy  in  the  morning  ?  "  he 
ask^ 

♦♦  Jf  you  like,"  said  Miss  Rivers  indifferently. 

♦♦  I  ^^ill  let  you  have  that  new  book  I  spoke  of 


36 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY*S  SAKB 


at  the  same  time,"  said  the  young  man  cheer- 
fully.    "  Good-night,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Did  the  boy  speak  to  you  about  his  back  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Rivers. 

"  You  mean  about  his  deformity  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  No,  he  did  not ;  I  felt  some  delicacy  about 
alluding  to  it  so  early  in  our  acquaintance.  Did 
he  mention  it  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  it  worries  him,  young  as  he  is.  I  think 
he  cries  about  it  at  night.  Could  anything  be 
done  ?  " 

Dr.  Jeffrey  shook  his  head.  "  I  fear  not.  How- 
ever I  will  examine  him.  Does  he  suffer  con- 
stant pain  ?  " 

"  No,  only  at  times." 

"  You  seem  to  be  on  very  good  terms  with 
him,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey,  with  a  smile.  **  What  a 
misfortune  that  you  cannot  have  him  with  you." 

Miss  Rivers,  at  this  bold  remark,  gave  the 
young  man  such  an  overpowering  look  from  her 
cold  eyes  that  he  laughed  outright  at  her  and 
ran  away. 

Usually  the  lonely  old  woman  spent  the  even- 
ing in  reading  and  went  to  bed  punctually  at 
eleven  o'clock.  This  evening  she  did  not  open 
one  of  the  books  or  papers  lying  on  the  table  and 
at  ten,  a  whole  hour  earlier  than  usual,  she  called 
her  maid  to  wheel  her  to  her  room. 

"First  take  me  in  to  see  if  that  boy  is  sleep- 
ing," she  said,  and  her  maid  guided  her  chair 
into  a  large  and  lofty  chamber  where  little  Jere- 
miah was  almost  lost  in  a  huge  canopied  bed. 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKE 


37 


Miss  Rivers  slipped  from  the  chair  to  the  bed 
and  drew  a  comfortable  over  the  boy.  Then  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  forehead. 

Jeremiah  seemed  to  be  sleeping  soundly,  but 
at  her  touch  he  half  opened  his  eyes,  and  nest- 
ling his  face  against  her  hand  murmured, 
"  Mother." 

Miss  Rivers'  first  impulse  was  to  snatch  her 
hand  away  as  quickly  as  if  the  boy's  cool  cheek 
had  burned  her,  but  she  conquered  herself.  The 
hand  remained  and  she  sat  looking  down  at  him 
with  the  smothered  affection  of  years  rising  and 
softening  and  overcoming  her. 

What  was  it  this  lad  had  said  to  her  to-day 
when  he  showed  her  his  mother's  photograph,- 
"  You  favor  her." 

She,  old,  plain-featured,  disagreeable,  had  been 
glorified  by  his  liking  for  her  into  a  resemblance 
to  the  sweet-faced  woman  whose  picture  he  kept 
always  next  to  his  heart.  Well,  he  should  not 
suffer  for  it.  For  the  other  boy's  sake  she  would 
be  good  to  him,  and  turning  to  her  maid  she 
said  less  harshly  than  usual,  "Take  me  to  my 
room." 

When  she  was  undressed  and  left  alone  for  the 
night,  she  locked  her  door  and  limped  painfully 
to  a  closet.  There  on  the  top  shelf  were  some  of 
the  other  boy's  playthings.  She  reached  up,  and 
taking  down  several  laid  them  on  a  chair. 

"  He  is  a  careful  child ;  he  will  not  hurt 
them,"  she  murmured  ;  then  with  a  curious  smile 
on  her  face  and  a  still  more  curious  lightness  of 
heart,  she  laid  herself  down  to  sleep. 


38 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


Dr.  Jeffrey  was  a  very  much-amused  and  re- 
lieved young  man.  "  It  is  better  than  a  joke," 
he  said,  "  because  there  is  a  lot  of  good  at  the 
I'  ttom  of  it;  but  the  old  lady  is  not  going  to 
play  any  more  of  her  tricks  on  me.  I  shall  not 
send  for  him  again." 

It  had  gotten  to  be  a  standing  arrangement 
that  Dr.  Jeffrey  should  send  every  day  to  get  lit- 
tle Jeremiah  and  that  Miss  Rivers  should  put  off 
the  messenger  with  an  excuse  that  the  boy  was 
either  dressing,  or  playing,  or  sleeping,  or  walk- 
ing, or  engaged  in  some  important  occupation 
that  could  not  be  left. 

If  he  did  not  send  for  him  Miss  Rivers  re- 
'proached  him  with  trying  to  foist  an  orphan  on 
her. 

"I  know  what  I  will  do,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  I  shall  send  her  a  bill  for  the  man's  loss  of  time 
in  running  to  and  from  her  house.  That  will 
settle  her,  for  she  is  fond  of  her  money." 

A  bill  accordingly  Miss  Rivers  received  and 
paid  \/ithout  a  murmur,  but  never  afterward  did 
she  open  her  mouth  to  the  doctor  on  the  subject 
of  taking  Jeremiah  away. 

"  I  have  seen  a  good  many  queer  people,"  said 
Dr.  Jeffrey  one  morning  when  he  was  on  his  way 
to  her  house,  "but  of  all  people  she  is  the 
queerest." 

Though  it  was  still  early  in  the  morning  Miss 
Rivers  and  Jeremiah  were  just  coming  back 
from  a  drive.  Their  carriage  drove  up  to  the 
door  in  front  of  the  doctor's  modest  buggy  and 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


39 


the  footman  assisted  the  lady  and  the  boy  into 
the  house  where  Dr.  Jeffrey  joined  them. 

"  Now  go  to  the  library  and  look  over  your 
lessons,"  said  Miss  Rivers ;  ^'  your  tutor  will  soon 
be  here." 

The  boy  hung  up  his  cap  and  the  cloak  that 
partly  concealed  his  crooked  back  and  skipped 
down  the  hall. 

He  was  handsomely  dressed  now  and  the  bell 
boy,  if  he  had  seen  him,  would  have  had  no 
reason  to  mischievously  inquire  the  name  of  his 
tailor. 

"  How  do  you  think  he  looks  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Rivers. 

"  Finely ;  I  am  glad  to  see  some  color  in  his 
cheeks.  Your  incessant  care  is  working  wonders 
in  him.  He  may  be  a  reasonably  strong  man 
yet" 

Miss  Rivers  looked  pleased.  Her  own  appear- 
ance was  very  much  changed,  though  her  phy- 
sician did  not  dare  tell  her  so.  Ever  since  the 
day  she  had  resolved  to  act  a  mother's  part 
toward  the  homeless  lad,  the  joy  of  self-sacrifice 
had  begun  to  enter  hei  heart  and  had  so  improved 
her  that  she  seemed  like  another  person. 

She  would  always  be  odd.  She  could  not  help 
that,  but  she  was  no  longer  disagreeable.  For 
one  thing  she  kept  strictly  to  herself  her  resolve 
to  protect  Jeremiah  as  long  as  she  lived  and  to 
provide  for  him  after  her  d  .ath,  and  only  Dr.  Jef- 
frey suspected  her  of  more  thpn  a  passing  fancy 
for  the  child. 

She  stood  looking  after  him  this  morning  with 


40 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY^S  SAKE 


a  smile  on  her  face.  Then  she  said  thoughtfully 
to  Dr.  Jeffrey,  "  I  wanted  to  be  rid.  of  him.  I 
took  him  out  early  this  morning  so  that  he 
would  not  know  of  the  trouble  in  the  house." 

"  What  trouble  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  Did  you  not  see  in  last  evening's  paper  that 
I  had  had  fifty  dollars  stolen  from  me  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Rivers. 

"  No,  indeed ;  I  am  surprised  to  hear  it.  How 
did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Let  us  go  into  the  drawing  room,  Jeremiah 
might  hear  us  here." 

Dr.  Jeffrey  gave  her  his  arm  and  she  limped 
across  the  hall  to  a  spacious  and  luxuriously 
furnished  room. 

"  A  young  Irish  girl,"  said  Miss  Rivers  seating 
herself  in  a  plush  chair,  "who  was  acting  as 
assistant  to  my  cook  saw  some  money  on  a  table 
in  my  bedroom  as  she  happened  to  be  passing 
the  door  and  stole  it.  I  discovered  the  theft  al- 
most immediately  and  suspecting  that  she  had 
taken  the  money  had  her  taxed  with  it.  She 
made  no  attempt  at  denial  and  I  had  her  ar- 
rested. She  was  taken  to  the  police  station 
while  we  were  out." 

"  How  very  sad,"  said  Dr.  Jeffrey.  "  It  would 
give  the  little  boy  a  shock  if  he  heard  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  "  he  is  so  very  sym- 
pathetic. I  never  knew  but  one  other  child  like 
him,"  and  she  sighed. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  take  him  away  for  a 
day  or  two?"  asked  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  No,  thank  you.     I  have  given  strict  orders 


FOR  THE  OTHER  BOY'S  SAKE 


41 


How 


not  to  have  the  affair  mentioned  in  the  house, 
and  the  papers  have  been  destroyed.  The  girl 
will  be  tried  this  morning  while  he  is  at  his 
lessons,  so  he  won't  know  that  I  have  gone  to  the 
courthouse." 

Miss  Rivers  had  hardly  finished  speaking  when 
Jeremiah  came  hurrying  into  the  room.  "  Aunt 
Sarah,"  he  said  curiously,  "  where  is  Katie  this 
morning?  My  rabbits  were  not  fed  last  night; 
you  know  she  always  does  it." 

"  Katie  has  gone  away,"  said  Miss  Rivers. 

"  Why,  she  liked  it  here,"  said  Jeremiah  with 
wide-opened  eyes.     "  What  made  her  go  away  ?  " 

"  I  had  rather  not  tell  you,"  said  Miss  Rivers. 

Jeremiah  drew  close  to  his  guardian.  "  She  is 
not  dead,  is  she  ?  "  he  asked,  every  vestige  of  color 
leaving  his  face. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  "  she  is  alive  and 
well,  but  she  is  a  bad  girl.  You  will  never  see 
her  again.  Do  go  to  your  studies ;  Mr.  Smith 
will  be  here  in  five  minutes." 

"  Now,  Aunt  Sarah,"  said  the  boy  decidedly, 
"  I  don't  believe  that.  Katie  is  not  a  bad  girl. 
Please  tell  me  what  has  become  of  her ; "  and 
Jeremiah  who  was  a  very  determined  little  lad, 
and  not  above  teasing  when  he  wanted  his  own 
way,  laid  a  coaxing  hand  on  Miss  Rivers'  arm. 

Miss  Rivers  gazed  helplessly  at  her  physician. 
Why  don't  you  tell  him  ?  the  young  man's  glance 
said  plainly. 

"I  will,'*  said  Miss  Rivers  aloud,  then  she 
turned  to  the  lad.  "Katie  stole  some  money 
from  me  and  I  sent  her  to  jail." 


4a 


FOR  THE  OTHBR  BOY'S  SAKE 


"Katie  stole  money?"  said  the  boy  slowly. 
"  It  is  impossible." 

"  It  is  quite  possible,"  said  Miss  Rivers  dryly. 
"  She  says  she  did  it" 

Jeremiah  looked  dazed.  "  Was  she — ^was  she 
crazy  ?  " 

**  No,  she  was  homesick.  She  had  just  got  a 
letter  from  Ireland  saying  that  her  mother  was 
ill,  and  she  took  the  money  to  pay  her  passage 
home." 

"Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,"  said  Jeremiah.  "She 
has  a  good  mother,  and  she  has  often  told  me 
about  the  little  house  and  the  peat  fire  and  the 
children  and  the  pigs — Katie  loves  animals. 
Will  her  mother  die,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Rivers  indifferently, 
"  I  have  not  thought  about  it." 

"  And  Katie  took  the  money  to  get  home  to 
her,"  said  Jeremiah  thoughtfully  ;  "  was  that  the 
only  thing  you  sent  her  to  jail  for.  Aunt  Sarah?" 

"  The  only  thing — ^isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  wicked  to  steal,"  and  Jeremiah 
shuddered ;  "  but  only  think.  Aunt  Sarah — sup- 
pose you  were  ill  in  Ireland,  and  I  was  here ;  I 
am  afraid — I  am  afraid,"  and  the  little  boy 
looked  lovingly  in  her  face,  "  that  if  I  saw  a  lot 
of  money  lying  about  and  did  not  pray  hard  to 
God  to  keep  me  from  taking  it  that  I  should 
snatch  it,"  and  Jeremiah  quite  overcome  by  the 
harrowing  thought  of  his  good  friend  on  a  sick 
bed  across  the  water  and  himself  in  a  prison  cell, 
laid  his  head  on  Miss  Rivers'  shoulder  to  hide 
the  sudden  emotion  that  overpowered  him. 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY'S  SAKB 


43 


Miss  Rivers*  face  softened.  To  imagine  Jere- 
miah in  Katie's  place  gave  the  affair  a  different 
aspect  "  I  am  sorry  too,"  she  said ;  "  but  it  is 
wicked  to  steal. 

"  And  it  is  wicked  to  do  lots  of  other  things," 
said  Jeremiah.  "  My  mother  used  to  say,  Aunt 
Sarah,  that  some  things  we  want  to  do  and  some 
we  don't  want  to  do,  and — ^and — and — "  and 
Jeremiah,  too  much  upset  by  the  communication 
just  made  to  him  to  reason,  broke  down,  and 
clasping  his  hands  behind  his  back  walked  away 
from  Miss  Rivers  to  the  hearth  rug. 

"He  has  a  vivid  imagination,"  said  Miss 
Rivers  to  the  doctor  in  a  low  voice.  "  He  fan- 
cies that  girl  with  her  face  against  prison  bars, 
whereas,  I  dare  say,  she  does  not  feel  so  badly  as 
he  does." 

"  Take  me  to  see  her.  Aunt  Sarah,  won't  you? " 
said  Jeremiah  suddenly  turning  around.  "  She 
would  tell  me  the  truth,  and  if  she  is  really  sorry 
won't  you  let  her  go  ?  It  must  be  dreadful  to 
be  locked  up — dreadful." 

Miss  Rivers  looked  at  him  for  some  minutes 
in  silence,  then  she  said,  "  No,  I  cannot  take  you 
to  that  court-room.  I  do  not  believe  in  sensa- 
tional spectacles  for  children.  You  would  not 
sleep  for  a  week ;  but  I  will  go  and  see  what  I 
can  do  for  Katie.  I  wish  now  that  I  had  not 
had  her  arrested.  Good-bye,  it  is  time  to  leave," 
and  she  stooped  down  to  kiss  him. 

She  had  risen  from  her  chair,  but  Jeremiah 
threw  his  arms  so  enthusiastically  about  her  neck 
that  she  sank  back  again. 


44 


POR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


"  Dear  Aunt  Sarah,"  he  said,  smothering  her 
with  kisses. 

Miss  Rivers  pushed  him  away,  and  glanced 
half  apologetically  at  the  doctor.  He  affected  to 
take  no  notice  of  Jeremiah's  demonstrative 
caresses,  and  said  briefly,  "May  I  accompany 
you  ?  '* 

"  Certainly,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  and  they  drove 
from  the  house  together. 

It  was  certainly  a  touching  scene.  There  was 
a  crowded  court-room,  a  grave  judge,  and  a  young 
girl,  not  yet  seventeen,  sitting  alone  in  the  dock 
— 2i  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  and  a  prisoner. 

Her  head  hung  on  her  breast.  Her  frank  face, 
down  which  the  tears  were  dropping  slowly,  was 
half  hidden.  One  could  hardly  believe  in  seeing 
how  modest  and  neat  she  was,  that  she  could 
have  committed  the  theft  charged  against  her. 

Miss  Rivers*  face  was  worried  and  perplexed. 
She  was  obliged  to  appear  as  the  prosecutrix, 
and  she  was  heartily  sorry  now  that  she  had  had 
the  girl  arrested. 

"I  am  glad  that  you  came  with  me,"  she 
whispered  to  Dr.  Jeffrey.  "This  is  a  trying 
ordeal  for  a  woman.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  not  in 
the  poor  girPs  place,"  and  she  shuddered. 

"  You  do  not  feel  ill,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Jef- 
frey anxiously. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  old  lady,  then  she  rose  and 
proceeded  to  give  her  testimony  in  a  firm  voice. 

Katie  stole  a  grateful  glance  at  her  from  under 
wet  eyelashes  when  Miss  Rivers  said :  "  I  have 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKB 


45 


had  this  girl  in  my  employ  for  ten  weeks.  Until 
the  theft  of  the  fifty  dollars  she  conducted  her- 
self in  a  thoroughly  honest  manner." 

Wlisn  it  came  to  the  account  of  the  taking  of 
the  money  Katie  lost  her  composure,  and  rock- 
ing herself  to  and  fro  on  her  chair  wept  bitterly. 
She  could  hardly  recover  herself  when  she  was 
called  to  the  stand,  and  in  almost  unintelligible 
accents  gave  a  sketch  of  a  happy  far-away  home 
where  unfortunately  such  poverty  existed  that 
she  had  been  forced  to  come  to  another  country 
to  earn  her  living. 

When  she  came  to  the  part  of  her  story  where 
her  mother  was  concerned  she  stretched  out  both 
hands  toward  the  judge  who  was  listening 
gravely  to  her. 

"  The  merciful  God  above  knows  that  I  never 
took  a  penny  before,  but  when  I  heard  that  my 

dear  old  mother  at  home  was  like  to  die " 

sh6  could  not  proceed  and  fell  back  on  her  seat 
with  a  stifled  cry. 

So  genuine  was  her  grief  that  every  one  pres- 
ent was  affected.  Some  of  the  old  frequenters 
of  the  court — ^men  with  hardened  faces — ^were 
seen  stealthily  wiping  tears  from  their  eyes,  and 
Dr.  Jeffrey  thought  he  heard  a  sob  from  his  com- 
panion, though  he  was  careful  not  to  look  at  her. 

The  judge  was  evidently  convinced  of  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  girPs  repentance.  "  I  know  that  you 
must  be  sorry  for  what  you  have  done,"  he  said, 
turning  toward  her ;  "  sentence  will  be  suspended 
in  your  case.     You  may  go." 

There  was  a  rustle  of  relief  all  through  the 


46 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY^S  SAKE 


court-room.  "If  there  are  any  humanitarians 
present,"  went  on  the  judge  looking  about  him, 
"  here  is  a  case  for  them.  I  hope  that  some  one 
may  be  found  to  take  charge  of  this  young  girl, 
and  see  that  she  does  not  wander  again  from  the 
paths  of  honesty." 

"  For  Jeremiah's  sake  I  will  do  it,"  whispered 
Miss  Rivers  to  herself,  and  when  she  saw  that 
there  was  a  little  stir  about  her  where  an  enthusi- 
astic young  man  had  started  a  subscription  list 
among  the  lawyers  to  pay  the  girl's  passage  to 
Ireland,  she  whispered  a  few  words  to  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

He  wrote  two  lines  on  a  piece  of  paper  and 
handed  it  to  the  young  lawyer,  who  looked  up 
at  him  and  smiled  and  nodded. 

A  few  minutes  later  Miss  Rivers,  Dr.  Jeffrey, 
and  Katie  left  the  courthouse  together. 

Jeremiah  had  been  excused  from  his  lessons 
and  stood  with  his  face  pressed  against  the  win- 
dow pane.  When  he  saw  the  carriage  returning 
with  Katie  in  it  he  laughed  aloud  in  his  delight 
and  ran  down  the  front  steps  to  greet  her. 

"  Oh,  Katie,  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  come 
back !     Good,  kind  Katie,  I  have  missed  you." 

"May  all  the  saints  be  good  to  your  little 
honor,"  said  the  girl,  who  looked  weak  and  ex- 
hausted. "  My  heart  has  just  been  breaking  to 
see  you." 

"  Let  Katie  go  to  her  room,"  said  Miss  Rivers, 
"  she  is  tired." 

"  She  will  stay  now,  and  not  go  away,  won't 
she,  auntie  ?  "  asked  Jeremiah  excitedly. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Rivers ;  "  I  think  she  had 


FOR  THB  OTHBR  BOY'S  SAKB 


47 


better  go  to  Ireland  at  once,  and  see  this  mother 
to  whom  she  is  so  much  attached.  Then  if  she 
wishes  to  come  back  she  may — and  possibly  her 
family  may  want  to  come  with  her.  Will  you 
see  about  engaging  a  passage  for  her  ?  "  and  Miss 
Rivers  turned  to  Dr.  Jeffrey. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  I  will  go  at  once,"  and  he  hurried  from 
the  room. 

"Jeremiah,"  said  Miss  Rivers,  drawing  the 
little  boy  to  her,  "  I  have  done  this  for  you." 

He  pressed  her  hand  affectionately  and  looked 
up  into  her  face. 

"  I  have  been  a  hard  old  woman,  I  fear  I  am 
one  now,"  said  Miss  Rivers ;  "  but,  as  you  sing  in 
your  old-fashioned  hymn. 

While  the  lamp  holds  out  to  bum 
The  vilest  sinner  may  return. 


And  another  thing  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  went 
on,  laying  her  hand  on  the  lad's  head,  "  when 
you  first  came  here  I  loved  you  for  another  boy's 
sake,  now  I  love  you  for  your  own." 

"  And  I  love  you,"  said  Jeremiah  enthusiastic- 
ally. "  I  don-t  know  why,  but  I  just  love  you — 
and  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  keep  still,"  he  went  on, 
fidgeting  about  on  his  toes.  "  I  wish  I  had  the 
strength  to  dance  as  David  did.  Auntie,  let's  do 
something,  let's  do  the  best  thing  we  can.  Sup- 
pose we  say  the  I^ord's  Prayer  together." 

"Very  well,"  said  Miss  Rivers  gravely,  and 
drawing  the  little  boy  to  her  knee,  they  repeated 


48 


FOR  THE  OTH8R  BOY*S  8AKB 


reverently  together,  **  Our  Father  which  art  in 
heaven.'* 

Katie  went  to  Ireland,  and  after  a  time  re- 
turned to  America,  bringing,  as  Miss  Rivers  had 
prophesied,  her  whole  Family  along  with  her — 
among  them  her  beloved  mother,  who  had  be- 
come quite  well  and  strong  again. 

Katie  did  not  go  back  to  Miss  Rivers,  but 
went  with  her  family  to  live  on  one  of  the 
Riverfield  farms  that  her  kind  patron  bought  for 
them. 

**  I  never  thought  I  should  again  be  led  by  a 
little  child,"  said  Miss  Rivers  one  day ;  **  but  I 
am.  Jeremiah,  I  hope  that  the  Lord  will  spare 
me  for  some  years  yet  to  you." 

Jeremiah  was  reading  the  Bible  to  her  at  the 
time,  and  looking  up  brightly  he  said :  "  I  hope 
so  too,  auntie." 


ch  art  in 


time  re- 
ivers had 
ith  her — 
3  had  be- 

vers,  but 
le  of  the 
ought  for 

;  led  by  a 
;  *'but  I 
^ill  spare 

ler  at  the 
"  I  hope 


n 

POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


{EAR  the  city  of  Halifax,  Nova  Scotia,  is 
a  beautiful  place  called  Princess  Lodge ; 
so  named  because  the  father  of  Queen 
Victoria  of  England  once  had  a  country 
house  there.  The  house  is  in  ruins  now 
and  the  garden  has  grown  wild,  but  the  old  road 
still  winds  up  from  the  city  past  the  quiet  spot 
and  leads  on  to  the  town  of  Bedford,  situated  at 
the  head  of  the  Basin — ^the  sheet  of  water  on  the 
shores  of  which  the  house  was  built. 

Walking  along  this  road  one  hot  day  a  few 
summers  ago  was  a  waggish-looking  dog  of  the 
breed  known  as  bull  terrier.  He  was  going 
slowly  and  he  acted  as  if  he  was  very  tired. 
Presently  with  a  heavy  sigh  he  dropped  down  on 
a  patch  of  grass  under  some  spreading  trees. 

A  red  cow,  munching  clover  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road,  lifted  her  head  and  looked  fix- 
edly at  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  madame  ?  "  he  said. 
The  cow  said  nothing  but  continued  to  stare 
at  him. 

"  In  my  country  we  speak  when  we  are  spoken 
to,"  said  the  dog  wearily  yet  mischievously. 

D  49 


50 


POOR  JSRSEY  CITY 


The  cow  switched  her  tail  and  lowered  her 
head  still  more. 

"  A  cow  that  shakes  her  tail  when  there  aren't 
any  flies  on  her  and  a  horse  that  shakes  his 
when  you  touch  him  with  the  whip,  are  two 
things  that  I  haven't  much  use  for,"  said  the  dog 
with  a  curl  of  his  lip.  "  But  don't  distress  your- 
self, madame,  I  have  no  intention  of  running  at 
you.  Lie  down  and  nave  a  talk  with  me ;  I  am 
dying  to  hear  the  sound  of  my  own  voice." 

The  red  cow  scanned  him  all  over  for  the 
space  of  a  few  minutes,  then  she  doubled  her  legs 
under  her  and  began  to  chew  her  cud. 

"  You  have  beautiful  eyes,  madame,"  said  the 
dog  politely.  "I  wish  I  had  such  eyes,  they 
would  have  made  my  fortune." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  cow. 

The  dog  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 
"  You  Nova  Scotian  animals  beat  everything — ^so 
English,  you  know^ — ^you  never  enter  into  con- 
versation with  strangers  till  you  learn  their 
whole  pedigree.  What  would  you  suppose  had 
been  my  business,  madame,  to  look  at  me  ?  " 

"You  are  not  a  tramp  dog,"  said  the  cow, 
"  because  you  have  on  a  silver  collar." 

"  Well  put,  madame ;  but  I  may  cheat  you  yet 
in  spite  of  that  silver  collar.  Don't  put  too 
much  faith  in  a  bit  of  metal." 

"  Have  you  run  away  from  home? "  inquired 
the  cow  with  some  curiosity. 

"  I  have  never  had  a  home,  madame." 

The  cow  forgot  to  chew  her  cud  and  let  her 
lower  jaw  hang  down  as  she  stared  at  him. 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


5X 


"  Shut  your  mouth,  madame,  you  don*t  look 
pretty  with  it  open,"  said  the  dog  slyly. 

"You  have  not  told  me  what  your  business 
is,"  replied  the  cow  in  some  vexation. 

Without  speaking  the  weary  dog  rose  from  the 
grass  and  proceeded  to  stand  on  his  head,  dance 
on  his  hind  legs,  turn  somersaults,  and  perform  a 
number  of  other  curious  tricks. 

Half  in  fear  and  half  in  astonishment  the  cow 
stumbled  to  her  legs  and  watched  him  from  be- 
hind the  tree. 

"  Frightened,  madame  ?  "  said  the  dog  throwing 
himself  again  on  the  grass  and  bursting  into 
laughter.  "  Why  you  could  kill  me  with  one  of 
those  horns  of  yours.  I  suppose  you  have  never 
seen  an  exhibition  of  this  kind  before.  1*11  give 
you  lots  of  them,  for  love  too— no  tickets  re- 
quired— if  youUl  do  me  the  trifling  favor  of  tell- 
ing me  of  a  quiet  place  where  I  can  spend  a  few 
days." 

The  cow  would  not  come  out  from  behind  the 
tree.     "  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  said  shortly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  clown  dog  in  a  show,"  said  the 
terrier  impatiently.  "  Bankston  &  Sons'  Great 
Traveling  Exhibition  of  Trained  Animals — ^have 
you  never  heard  of  them  ?  They're  in  Halifax 
now  and  I've  cut  them." 

"  Cut  them,"  repeated  the  cow  slowly. 

**  Yes ;  got  tired  of  them,  bored  to  death — ^run 
away,  skedaddled." 

"  And  are  you  not  going  back  ?  " 

"No,  madame,  I  am  not." 

"  What  is  to  become  of  you  ?  " 


52 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


**I  don^t  know  and  don^t  care  as  long  as  I 
never  see  that  old  show  again," 

"  I  have  never  met  any  animals  like  you,"  said 
the  cow  nervously ;  "  I  think  I  will  go  home." 

The  dog  got  up  and  made  her  a  low  bow. 
"  Thank  you,  madame ;  my  originality  has  always 
been  my  drawing  card,  and  your  suspicions  do 
you  credit.  You  are  exactly  like  all  the  other 
cows  that  I  have  met.  Permit  me  to  say  that  the 
slightest  taint  of  Bohemianism  would  spoil  you." 

"  What  is  Bohemianism  ?  "  asked  the  cow  with 
some  curiosity. 

The  dog  smiled.  "  Bohemianism — what  is  it  ? 
I  don't  know.  Taking  no  thought  for  the 
morrow  will  perhaps  best  express  it  to  you." 

"  I  don't  like  the  sound  of  it,"  said  the  cow. 

"  I  dare  say  not,  madame.  You  probably  like 
to  look  ahead  and  think  of  your  comfortable 
stall  and  good  food  and  pleasant  home,  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  cow. 

"  You  would  not  like  to  live  on  the  road  as  I 
am  doing,  not  knowing  what  minute  you  may  be 
pounced  upon  and  run  back  to  town  and " 

"  Well,"  said  the  cow,  "  what  were  you  going 
to  say  ?  " 

"  I  was  about  to  tell  you  what  would  happen 
to  me  if  I  am  caught." 

"  What  would  happen  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  go  to  a  circus,  madame  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Or  to  any  kind  of  a  performance  where  ani- 
mals were  made  to  do  tricks  ?  " 


"•^u. 


POOR  JBRSBY  aTY 


53 


**  I  have  seen  animals  in  cages  going  by  on  the 
trains." 

"  And  they  looked  happy,  didn't  they  ?  " 

The  cow  shuddered.  "  Oh  no,  no ;  there  was 
a  dreadful  look  in  their  eyes." 

"  But  you  should  see  them  on  the  stage,"  said 
the  dog  ironically.  "  A  goat  rolling  a  barrel  is 
a  charming  sight,  and  a  pig  wheeling  a  barrow 
is  another.  The  people  scream  with  delight  at 
dancing  monkeys  and  leaping  dogs.  I  guess  if 
they  kiiew ^" 

"Knew  what?" 

"Knew  everything,"  exclaimed  the  dog  bit- 
terly, as  he  paced  back  and  forth  on  a  narrow 
strip  of  grass.  "  The  public  see  the  sugar — an 
animal  gets  through  a  pretty  trick  and  he  runs 
to  his  trainer  for  a  lump.  They  don't  notice  the 
long  whip  in  the  background.  I  tell  you  I  have 
felt  that  whip  many  a  time,  and  I  am  accounted 
a  smart  dog." 

"  I  hate  to  be  run  along  the  road,  or  have  boys 
throw  stones  at  me,"  said  the  cow  mildly.  "  It 
makes  me  fee?  bad  and  poisons  my  milk." 

"  I  never  heard  of  a  cow  doing  tricks,"  said 
the  dog,  stopping  in  his  walk — "by-the-way, 
what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mooley." 

"  Mooley,  is  it  ?  And  mine  is  "  Jersey  City." 
Jersey  City,  the  clown  dog  in  Bankston  &  Sons' 
Big  Show,  and  in  just  about  one  hour  you'll 
see  Bankston's  trainer  on  his  bicycle  spinning 
around  the  curve  in  this  road  looking  for  me." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  "  asked  the  cow. 


S4 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


"Well,  you  see  I  ran  away  this  morning. 
There  aren't  many  ways  to  leave  the  city  down 
yonder.  Old  Jimson  will  know  that  I  have  too 
much  sense  to  jump  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  I 
wouldn't  be  likely  to  cross  the  harbor  in  a  ferry 
boat.  He'll  guess  that  I've  taken  this  road  along 
which  we  came  in  the  train,  so  that  I  can  make 
for  Boston." 

"  Do  you  belong  to  Boston  ?  " 

"No,  I  don't  belong  anywhere.  I  wasn't 
stolen  from  a  lovely  home  like  the  dogs  in  the 
story  books.  I  was  bom  and  brought  up  in  the 
show ;  but  I'm  tired  and  sick  of  it  now,  and  my 
bones  ache,  and  I'd  rather  die  than  go  back. 
Good-bye,  I'll  just  crawl  off  here  in  the  woods 
till  I  feel  like  looking  for  something  to  eat. 
You'll  not  say  anything  about  having  seen  me  ?  " 

"  No,  I  will  not,"  said  the  cow  slowly.  "  I'm 
sorry  for  you,  and  I'll  do  what  I  can  to  help  you. 
If  you  will  follow  me,  I'll  show  you  an  old  fox 
hole  where  you  can  hide  till  dark.  Then  if  you 
will  come  up  to  my  stable  I'll  put  you  in  the 
way  of  getting  something  to  eat" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  dog  gruffly.  Then  he 
muttered  under  his  breath,  "  I  wasn't  such  a  fool 
after  all  to  trust  the  old  softie.  She'll  not  give 
me  away,"  and  he  walked  painfully  after  her  up 
a  green  and  shady  path  leading  to  a  thick  wood. 

"  I  never  felt  such  a  good  bed  in  my  life," 
murmured  Jersey  City  rapturously. 

It  was  one  week  later  and  in  the  middle  of  a 
hot  July  day.     He  lay  stretched  out  on  a  patch 


*-4Jta 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


55 


of  thick  fern  moss.  Above  him  on  a  bank  grew 
lovely  purple  violets  and  the  trailing  green  lin- 
naea  studded  with  pink  bells.  The  air  was  full  of 
the  delicate  perfume  of  the  flowers,  and  the  sun- 
light filtering  through  the  treetops  lay  in  waver- 
ing patches  on  the  moss,  the  flowers,  and  Jersey 
City's  dark  body. 

"  You  look  like  a  happy  dog,"  said  the  cow, 
who  had  just  come  walking  up  a  path  and  stood 
knee  deep  in  ferns. 

"I  am  happy,  thanks  to  you,  Mooley,"  said 
Jersey  City.  "  I  never  had  such  a  good  time  in 
my  life.  Oh,  this  is  delicious,"  and  he  buried 
his  muzzle  in  the  moss. 

The  cow  surveyed  him  in  placid  satisfaction. 
"  Why  do  you  not  stay  here  instead  of  going  to 
Boston,  as  you  plan  to  do  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  see,  Mooley,  I  am  a  marked  char- 
acter here.  As  soon  as  I  show  myself  I'll  be 
spotted.  You've  lots  of  English  bull  terriers 
about  here,  but  not  any  like  me.  I'm  what  is 
called  a  Boston  terrier,  and  I'd  better  get  back 
to  the  place  where  I  can  mingle  with  a  number 
of  other  dogs  resembling  myself." 

"  The  search  is  over  now,"  said  Mooley  kindly. 
"  A  milkman's  cow  who  was  driven  out  from  the 
city  yesterday,  told  me  that  Bankston  &  Sons' 
Big  Show  had  gone  away.  I  don't  think  that 
you  are  in  any  danger." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Jersey  City  thoughtfully, 
"and  I  don't  know  how  to  leave  this  lovely 
place.  Oh,  Mooley,  what  a  change  for  a  weary 
dog  from  the  heat  and  noise  and  dust  of  theatres 


56 


POOR  J8BSBY  CITY 


and  halls  and  railway  trains.  I  should  like  to 
stay  here  forever." 

"  Do  you  not  get  lonely  ?  "  asked  Mooley. 

Jersey  hesitated  an  instant.  "  You  have  been 
very  good  to  me,  Mooley,  and  I  hope  you  won't 
think  me  ungrateful  if  I  say  I  could  stay  in  this 
wood  forever  if  I  only  had  one  thing." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  inquired  the  cow. 

"  Some  human  being  to  be  with  me." 

"  I  understand  that,"  said  Mooley. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  the  dog,  "  we  four-legged 
animals  were  made  to  serve  the  two-legged  ones, 
and  we  can't  be  happy  without  them.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  tears  come  in  my  eyes  when 
I  think  of  cross  old  Jimson,  and  the  Bankstons, 
who  weren't  much  better.  It  is  such  a  bittet 
feeling  not  to  be  with  the  people  who  have  had 
me  since  I  was  a  little  puppy,  that  sometimes  I 
feel  as  if  I  must  run  back  to  them." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,"  said  the  cow  hastily. 

"  No,  I  won't ;  I  just  think  what  a  whipping  1 
should  get,  and  that  stops  my  paws  when  I  want 
to  run." 

"  You  have  never  told  me  what  your  life  was 
like,"  said  Mooley,  lying  down  near  him  and 
drawing  some  of  the  ferns  into  her  mouth. 

"  In  season  time — ^that  is  when  we  were  travel- 
ing— ^it  was  the  train  nearly  all  day,  and  per- 
formances nearly  every  night.  You  see  it  is  an 
enormous  expense  to  take  car  loads  of  animals 
from  one  city  to  another,  and  it  must  be  done  as 
quickly  as  possible.  How  my  legs  used  to  pain 
me  from  standing  all  day,  for  the  dog  car  was 


POOR  JBSSBY  CITY 


57 


usually  so  crowded  that  we  could  not  lie  down. 
Then  as  soon  as  we  arrived  in  a  town  we  were 
herded  together  like  sheep,  and  the  trainer  drove 
us  to  the  place  where  we  were  to  give  our  per- 
formance. We  waited  our  turns  to  go  on  the 
stage.  I  always  wore  a  Toby  collar  made  of 
deep  lace,  and  my  rdle  was  to  make  people  laugh." 

"To  make  them  laugh,"  said  the  cow.  "I 
don't  understand." 

"  I  was  like  the  clown  in  a  circus.  Whenever 
an  animal  did  a  smart  trick  I  had  to  follow  him 
and  turn  a  somersault,  or  fail  in  some  way  in 
trying  to  do  it,  though  I  knew  well  how  it  should 
be  done.  Then  I  faced  the  audience  and  laughed 
like  this,"  and  Jersey  City,  turning  back  his  lips, 
grinned  dismally  at  the  cow. 

"I  don't  see  anything  funny  in  that,"  said 
Mooley. 

"  The  people  used  to,"  said  Jersey  City  dryly. 
"  They  would  go  o£E  in  roars  of  laughter ;  and 
often  I  would  listen  to  them  with  a  sore  heart. 
I'm  very  fond  of  human  beings,  but  I  don't  alto- 
gether understand  them.  They  cry  about  things 
that  you'd  think  they'd  laugh  about,  and  they 
laugh  about  things  that  you'd  think  they  would 
cry  about.  Now  I  never  used  to  see  anything 
in  our  cage  trick  but  a  cruel  trap." 

'*  What  is  a  cage  trick  ?  "  asked  Mooley. 

"  There's  a  big  revolving  thing  in  the  middle 
of  the  stage,  and  dogs  climb  up  on  it  and  hang 
by  their  paws — ^then  it  is  whirled  round.  I  have 
seen  little  dogs  clinging  to  the  top  with  a  look 
of  mortal  terror  on  their  faces,  for  they  knew  if 


5« 


POOR  JBRSBY  aTY 


they  were  to  fall  they  would  break  their  legs^ 
and  yet  the  people  laughed.  Only  occasionally 
a  little  child  would  cry." 

"  I  won  *.er  how  the  men  and  women  would 
feel  if  they  were  hanging  there  ? "  said  Mooley 
half  angrily. 

"  Yes,  I  wonder ;  if  any  one  asked  me  to  go 
to  see  men  and  women  and  children  running 
about  on  their  hands  and  feet,  I'd  say  *  What  a 
silly  performance;  they  weren't  made  to  go  in 
that  way,'  and  yet  they  flock  to  see  us  going  on 
two  legs,  which  is  just  as  unnatural." 

"  Perhaps  they  don't  think,"  said  Mooley. 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Jersey  City.  "There  is 
one  thing  that  they  do  think  of,  and  that  is  hav- 
ing a  good  time  and  making  money.  That's 
what  most  human  beings  live  for,  Mooley." 

"  My  mistress  doesn't,"  said  Mooley. 

"  By  the  way,  who  is  your  mistress  ?  "  asked 
the  dog. 

"  A  poor  old  widow  who  lives  here.  She  is 
such  a  good  woman  and  she  takes  fine  care  of 
me.     I  wish  you  would  come  and  live  with  her." 

"  I  wish  I  could,"  said  Jersey  City  wistfully. 
"  Do  you  think  she  would  take  me  in  ?  " 

"  She  is  kind  to  everything  that  is  in  trouble," 
said  Mooley.  "  I  know  that  she  would  let  you 
lie  by  the  fire  when  the  cold  weather  comes." 

"This  is  a  very  retired  place,"  said  Jersey 
City ;  "  that  is,  there  aren't  many  people  about." 

"  There  are  only  two  houses  near  here  besides 
the  Widow  May's,"  said  the  cow ;  "  then  three 
miles  away  is  the  village." 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


59 


»» 


■ 

"  That  will  just  suit  me  for  a  while,"  said  Jer- 
sey City.  "I  can*t  bear  to  leave  this  lovely 
place;  and  I  don^t  believe  that  these  families 
have  heard  that  there  is  a  reward  offered  for  me." 

Mooley  chuckled  quietly. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  the  dog  asked. 

**  Let  me  ask  you  a  question  in  my  turn,"  said 
the  cow ;  "  why  did  you  trust  me  with  your  story 
that  day  on  the  road  ?  " 

Jersey  City  hesitated  for  a  short  time. 

"  Come,  now,  tell  the  truth,"  said  the  cow. 

"  Well,  Mooley,  I  thought  you  looked  honest." 

"  And  stupid,"  added  the  cow.  "  I  know  you 
did;  but  you  clever  traveled  animals  must  re- 
member that  the  stay-at-home  ones  aren't  always 
so  stupid  as  they  seem.  I  did  you  a  good  turn 
that  day ;  for  as  soon  as  I  brought  you  to  this 
wood  I  returned  to  the  village.  I  knew  that  the 
man  looking  for  you  would  stop  there." 

"  And  did  he  ?  "  asked  Jersey  City  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  he  asked  at  the  post  oflBce  about  you. 
Nobody  paid  much  attention  to  him ;  then  he 
tacked  a  piece  of  paper  on  a  tree  and  jumped  on 
his  bicycle  and  rode  away." 

"  That  was  Jimson,"  said  Jersey  City  bitterly. 

"What  do  you  think  I  did  to  the  paper?" 
asked  Mooley. 

"  I  don't  know — what  did  you  ?  " 

"  Ate  it,''  said  the  cow,  her  great  brown  eyes 
full  of  merriment ;  "  tore  it  in  strips  from  the 
tree  and  chewed  it  finer  than  my  finest  cud." 

"  Mooley,"  exclaimed  Jersey  City  in  delight, 
"  you  ought  to  have  been  a  dog." 


6b 


POOR  JBR8BY  aTV 


**  Thank  you,  my  friend,  I  prefer  to  remain  an 
animal  that  cannot  be  taught  tricks.  But  you 
must  hear  the  rest  of  my  tale.  After  I  tore  down 
the  paper  I  had  to  go  home,  lest  the  widow 
should  think  I  had  wandered  away ;  but  I  met 
my  brother,  who  is  an  ox  and  lives  farther  up 
the  Basin  road,  and  I  told  him  that  if  he  saw 
any  of  those  bits  of  paper  on  trees  he  was  to 
tear  them  off.  He  will  pass  the  word  to  the 
other  oxen  who  are  in  the  woods,  and  I  think 
you  need  have  no  fear  of  remaining  here." 

Jersey  City  sprang  up  and  affectionately 
touched  his  nose  to  the  cow's  head.  "  You  good 
old  Mooley,  I  shall  keep  an  eye  on  you  as  you  go 
to  and  from  your  pasture,  and  if  any  boys  chase 
you,  I  will  bite  their  heels." 

Jersey  City  took  the  advice  of  his  friend  the 
cow,  and  one  day  went  to  lie  under  the  apple 
trees  in  the  Widow  May's  orchard.  She  saw 
him  there  and  spoke  kindly  to  him,  and  the  next 
day  he  took  up  a  position  under  the  window. 

She  noticed  that  he  was  very  thin — ^for  not 
being  uspd  to  provide  for  himself,  he  had  con- 
siderable difficulty  in  finding  enough  to  eat — 
and  preparing  a  plate  of  bread  and  milk  she  put 
it  on  the  doorstep. 

This  he  ate  with  so  much  gratitude  and  with 
such  a  pleading  look  in  his  dark  eyes,  that  the 
widow  invited  him  into  her  house,  and  there  by 
the  time  autumn  came  he  was  snugly  and  con- 
tentedly domiciled. 

One  day  when  the  first  snowflakes  of  the  sea- 


POOR  JBRS8Y  CrtY 


6x 


son  were  flying  through  the  air,  Jersey  City 
sprang  up  on  a  chair  by  the  window  and  looked 
out. 

**  I  wonder  whether  Mooley  is  snug  and  warm," 
he  said  to  himself.  Then  he  ran  out  to  the 
Widow  May^s  small  stable. 

Yes,  Mooley  was  comfortable  for  the  night, 
and  lay  on  her  bed  of  straw  with  a  sleepy  look 
in  her  eyes. 

"Where  is  our  mistress,  Jersey  City?"  she 
asked. 

"  Gone  to  the  village  to  buy  meal  and  mo- 
lasses. She  has  very  little  money  left,"  said 
Jersey  City  soberly,  "and  human  beings  are 
helpless  without  that." 

Mooley  looked  uneasily  at  him.  "  I  hope  that 
she  will  not  have  to  sell  me.  If  she  does,  I  shall 
be  terribly  unhappy  and  my  milk  will  be  spoiled. 
I  wish  that  her  son  would  send  her  some  more 


»» 


money 

"  Her  son  is  a  sailor,  you  told  me,  didn't 
you  ?  "  said  Jersey  City. 

"  Yes ;  a  fine  young  man.  He  goes  to  the 
West  Indies.     I  hope  that  his  ship  is  not  lost." 

"  I  try  to  eat  as  little  as  I  can,"  said  Jersey 
City,  "  but  this  is  such  a  wholesome  place  that  I 
am  hungry  all  the  time." 

"  You  have  got  quite  fat  and  sleek  since  you 
came  here,"  said  Mooley,  looking  at  him  with 
satisfaction.  "  You  are  the  handsomest  dog  that 
I  ever  saw." 

•'  Thank  you  for  the  compliment,"  said  Jersey 
City  laughing ;  "  you  remember  I  told  you  the 


\ 


62 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


first  time  we  ever  met  that  you  had  beautiful 
eyes." 

"  You  were  rather  saucy  to  me  that  day,"  said 
Mooley  smiling,  "but  you  were  tired  and  un- 
happy. You  never  feel  in  that  way  now,  do 
you?" 

"  Never,  except  when  I  am  thinking  of  other 
dogs." 

"What  dogs?" 

"Why,  Bankston's  dogs,  the  ones  that  were 
brought  up  with  me.  When  I  am  lying  by  the 
fire  so  warm  and  comfortable  they  come  into  my 
mind,  but  I  try  to  put  them  right  out,  for  it 
seems  as  if  I  would  go  crazy  thinking  of  their 
doing  those  dreadful  tricks  over  and  over  again 
and  being  cold  at  night  and  half  fed." 

"  Run  away  to  meet  the  widow,"  said  Mooley, 
"it  is  time  for  her  to  come  and  it  is  getting 
dark." 

Jersey  hurried  from  the  stable  and  down  the 
frozen  road.  Soon  he  espied  a  little  bent  figure 
in  a  black  dress,  and  jumping  and  springing 
with  delight  about  her  and  carrying  a  fold  of 
her  dress  in  his  mouth,  he  escorted  her  to  the 
house  door. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  Widow  May  sat  down 
to  her  scanty  tea  of  bread  and  molasses.  Jersey 
City  lay  on  a  small  mat  before  a  wood  fire  in  the 
kitchen  stove  and  gazed  lovingly  at  her. 

Presently  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Jer- 
sey City  got  up  and  stood  before  the  widow  till 
he  saw  one  of  the  neighbors  entering;,  then  he 
slunk  behind  the  chairs  in  the  small  bedroom. 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


63 


"Good  evening,  Mrs.  May/*  said  a  young 
man  in  a  cheery  voice,  "  I've  just  stepped  in  to 
see  how  you  are — ^what's  that,  a  cat  ?  " 

"  No,  a  dog,"  said  Mrs.  May,  "  a  poor  stray  thing 
that  came  to  me  in  the  summer.  I  think  he 
must  have  been  stolen  from  some  nice  family,  for 
he  had  on  an  expensive  collar." 

"  You  call  him  Rover,  do  you,"  said  the  young 
man  absently. 

"Yes— come  here,  good  dog,"  and  she  rose 
and  went  to  the  door.  "  I  should  like  you  to 
see  him.  He  is  such  a  handsome  dog,  but  he  is 
shy.  He  always  hides  when  any  one  comes, 
and  I  can  never  get  him  to  go  to  the  village  with 
me. 


)) 


"  Does  he  do  any  tricks  ?  "  asked  the  young 
man,  with  a  far-a-way  look  in  his  eyes,  for  he 
was  not  thinking  of  the  dog  at  all,  but  of  a  cer- 
tain newspaper  in  his  pocket. 

"  No,  he  is  the  most  stupid  dog  I  ever  saw, 
but  he  is  very  loving  and  I  shall  never  turn  him 
away." 

"How  long  is  it  since  you  have  heard  from 
your  son?  "  asked  the  young  man  suddenly. 

"  Three  months,"  said  the  widow,  turning  her 
quiet  gray  eyes  toward  him. 

"  Does  he  usually  go  so  long  without  writing," 
asked  the  young  man. 

"  Yes,  sometimes — not  often.  Why,  have  you 
heard  anything  about  him  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  dangerous  calling  to  follow  the  sea," 
stammered  her  visitor,  "and  there  are  a  good 
many  gales  in  the  fall." 


64 


POOR  JBIU3BY  CITY 


me- 


"  You  know  something,"  said  the  widow,  "  tell 


The  young  man  looked  hesitatingly  round  the 
kitchen.     "It  mayn't  be  true,  Mrs.  May,  but 

— "  and  he 


father  said  I'd  best  prepare  you— 
pulled  the  newspaper  from  his  pocket. 


see 


"Read  it  to  me,"  said  the  widow, 
and  she  covered  her  face  with  one 


)) 


"I  can't 
hand, 

while  the  young  man  hurriedly  read  a  paragraph 
which  reported  a  vessel  called  the  "  Swallow  "  to 
have  been  lost  with  all  her  crew. 

"  But  it  may  be  only  a  rumor,"  he  said  com- 
fortingly.    "  Don't  give  up  hope,  Mrs.  May." 

"  No,  I  won't,"  she  said ;  "  the  I^ord  knows 
what  is  best.  If  he  has  taken  my  son  from  me, 
I  know  that  I  shall  soon  go  to  join  him." 

The  young  man  was  misled  by  her  calmness. 
With  an  air  of  great  relief  he  rose.  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  that  you  don't  take  it  too  hard,  Mrs.  May. 
I  am  going  to  town,  and  I'll  make  inquiries. 
Mother  and  Lucy  will  be  over  to  see  you  to-mor- 
row. Good-night,"  and  after  warmly  shaking 
her  hand  he  left  her. 

As  soon  as  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Jer- 
sey City  left  his  hiding-place  and  ran  to  look 
anxiously  in  his  mistress'  face.  He  was  fright- 
ened by  what  he  saw.  Better  than  the  young 
man  he  could  read  her  expression,  and  he  knew 
that  her  heart  was  breaking.  Slowly  she  went 
into  her  little  room  and  lay  down  on  the  bed. 
Hour  after  hour  passed  and  she  did  not  move. 
Jersey  City  sat  uneasily  watching  her. 

She  had  not  cleared  away  the  tea  dishes  and 


POOR  JBKSEY  CITY 


6S 


she  had  forgotten  to  put  out  the  lamp.  It  was 
not  like  her  to  waste  anything. 

After  a  time  he  sprang  up  on  the  bied.  Her 
face  and  hands  were  quite  cold,  and  when  he 
licked  them  to  make  them  warm  she  moaned 
feebly*  Jersey  City  lay  down  close  beside  her, 
so  that  she  would  get  some  warmth  from  his 
sleek  body. 

He  did  not  close  his  eyes  that  night,  and  by 
the  time  the  morning  came  he  was  nearly  frantic. 
The  gray  streaks  of  dawn  stealing  in  at  the  win- 
dow showed  him  that  his  dear  mistress  was  in- 
sensible.    In  vain  he  tried  to  rouse  her. 

"  She  will  die  if  I  do  not  bring  some  one  to 
her,"  he  said.    "I  will  go  and  speak  to  Mooley." 

He  could  easily  unfasten  the  latch  of  the  back 
door  by  pressing  his  paw  upon  it,  and  he  hur- 
ried out  to  the  stable. 

"  Mooley,"  he  cried,  "  the  widow  is  very  ill, 
what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

Mooley  stumbled  to  her  feet  and  looked  at  him 
uncertainly. 

"  One  of  us  must  go  to  the  neighbors,"  went 
on  Jersey  City. 

"  What  can  a  cow  do  ?  "  asked  Mooley  feebly. 
"  Oh,  my  poor  mistress,"  and  she  leaned  against 
the  side  of  her  stall. 

"  You  can  go  to  Jones*  and  stand  by  their  gate 
and  low,"  said  Jersey  City.  "Then  they  will 
know  that  there  is  something  the  matter  and 
will  follow  you  home." 

Mooley's  legs  bent  under  her,  and  with  a  moan 
she  lay  down. 


66 


POOR  JERSEY  CITY 


"  What  is  the  matter,  are  you  ill  too?  "  asked 
Jersey  City. 

"  Oh,  yes  I  am,"  said  the  cow,  "  what  a  fool  I 
have  been." 

"  What  have  you  done  ?  '* 

"  I  drank  some  fish  oil  last  evening.  I  didn't 
know  what  it  was,"  said  Mooley  dismally ;  "  it 
was  standing  by  the  grocer's  and  I  was  thirsty." 

"  You  old  simpleton,"  said  Jersey  City  sharply. 
Then  he  added  more  kindly,  "  That  was  not  like 
you,  Mooley." 

"  I  am  just  like  old  Mr.  May,  the  widow's  hus- 
band, who  is  now  dead,"  said  the  cow  with  a 
sigh.  "  He  had  a  great  thirst  and  was  always 
drinking  something  he  shouldn't." 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  said  Jersey  City ; 
"  put  your  head  down  and  go  to  sleep ;  I  see  you 
can't  walk.     I'll  go  to  Jones'." 

"But  some  one  may  recognize  you,"  said 
Mooley ;  "  be  careful  what  you  do.  Oh,  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself  if  it  is  found  out  that  you 
are  a  runaway  dog." 

"Don't  worry,"  said  Jersey  City;  but  as  he 
trotted  down  the  lane  he  muttered  to  himself: 
"  I  am  afraid  they  will.  This  is  a  most  unfor- 
tunate affair.  I  wish  I  had  been  bom  a  cur  and 
not  such  a  remarkable  looking  dog." 

Ten  minutes  later  he  was  looking  desperately 
up  at  the  Jones'  window.  "Oh,  what  stupid 
people.  I  have  barked  and  scratched  and  clawed 
at  the  door,  but  they  won't  come  out.  I'll  have 
to  go  to  the  village.  What  sleepy  heads  they 
must  be ;  they  ought  to  have  been  up  long  ago ; 


TOOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


67 


however  I  must  lose  no  time.  AVhat  should  I 
do  if  my  kind  mistress  were  to  die  ?  " 

At  this  thought  he  raced  ofiE  at  full  speed  to 
the  village. 

The  grocer,  who  was  an  early  riser,  was  just 
taking  down  his  shutters.  Jersey  City,  who  had 
scarcely  any  breath  left,  rushed  up  to  the  shop 
and  dropped  panting  on  the  doorstep. 

The  grocer  looked  at  him.  "  Get  out  of  this, 
you  impudent  dog.  Get  out,  I  say,"  and  he 
kicked  him  aside  as  he  went  into  the  shop. 

Jersey  City  came  back  and  stood  behind  him 
as  he  bent  over  to  kindle  a  fire  in  his  stove. 
"  Not  gone  yet,"  said  the  grocer,  looking  over 
his  shoulder  and  throwing  a  piece  of  wood  at 
him.     "  Ugh,  I  hate  dogs." 

Jersey  City  rushed  out,  his  heart  beating 
almost  to  suffocation.  There  pinned  against  a 
row  of  canned  vegetables  he  had  seen  a  placard 
bearing  a  large  picture  of  himself  and  offering  a 
reward  of  one  hundred  dollars  for  his  recovery. 

Jimson  was  a  clever  man — ^he  had  not  given 
him  up.  What  an  unobserving  man  the  grocer 
was  not  to  have  recognized  him.  He  had  better 
hurry  away  before  he  did  so.  He  ran  several 
paces  then  he  stopped. 

"  I  love  the  widow,"  he  thought,  "  and  she  has 
been  very  good  to  me.     Can  I  let  her  die  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  something  seemed  to  say  inside  him. 
"  But  if  I  make  myself  known  to  this  cross 
grocer  he  will  give  me  up  to  Jiuison.  How  can 
I  go  back  to  thai  life  ?  "  reflected  poor  Jersey  City 
in  deep  misery. 


68 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


He  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  blue  sky.  "  It  is  so . 
pleasant  here  in  this  open  country.  If  I  go 
back  to  the  show  I  shall  die.  Never  mind,  I 
must  do  my  duty  or  I  shall  despise  myself,"  and 
without  hesitating  an  instant  longer,  he  hurried 
back  to  the  grocer. 

A  few  tumbles  on  the  floor  and  a  sad  little 
waltz  on  his  hind  legs  around  some  empty  boxes 
brought  the  attention  of  the  amazed  man  upon 
him. 

With  his  mouth  wide  open  and  holding  up  his 
sooty  hands,  the  grocer  looked  from  the  perform- 
ing dog  to  the  placard  on  the  wall. 

"  The  circus  dog,  as  sure  as  I  live,"  he  mut- 
tered. "That's  one  hundred  dollars  in  some- 
body's pocket ;  I  wonder  if  I  can  catch  him." 

He  snatched  up  a  piece  of  rope  and  went  cau- 
tiously after  Jersey  City,  who  had  danced  out 
through  the  door  and  into  the  road.  Jersey  City 
was  careful  not  to  let  him  catch  up  with  him, 
and  the  grocer,  half  laughing,  half  angry,  fol- 
lowed what  he  supposed  was  a  crazy  dog  till  he 
got  near  the  widow's  cottage. 

Then  Jersey  City  gave  up  his  antics  and  ran 
to  the  house  as  fast  as  he  could  go.  The  grocer 
ran  after  him,  exclaiming,  "  Soho,  this  is  where 
you  have  found  a  hiding-place,  is  it  ?  "  Then  he 
stopped  short  and  threw  up  his  hands,  for  on  the 
bed  lay  a  poor  old  woman,  who  looked  as  if  she 
was  dead. 


It  was  a  beautiful  winter  day.     The  sun  was 
shining  gloriously  on  white  fields  of  snow  and 


POOR  JBKSBY  CIT7 


69 


on  the  blue  waters  of  the  Basin.  Everything 
in  the  landscape  was  calm  and  cheerful  except 
two  distressed  figures  of  animals  that  stood  on  a 
high  bank  overlooking  the  water. 

One  could  tell  that  they  were  unhappy  just  to 
look  at  them.  The  cow  stood  with  a  drooping 
head,  and  there  was  a  sad  expression  in  her  beau- 
tiful eyes.  The  dog's  tail  hung  limp,  his  ears 
were  not  pricked ;  there  was  a  desperate,  hunted 
expression  on  his  face. 

"  I  wish  you  would  give  me  a  toss  with  your 
horns  a<dd  send  me  over  that  bank,  Mooley,"  he 
said  mournfully. 

The  cow  turned  slowly  toward  him,  "  What, 
down  on  those  rocks  ?  It  would  hurt  you,  Jer- 
sey City." 

"  If  you  were  to  break  a  leg  for  me,  Jimson 
would  not  take  me  away,"  said  her  companion. 
"  I  would  be  spoiled  for  a  trick  dog  if  I  only  had 
something  the  matter  with  me." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  be  right,"  said  the 
cow  soberly ;  "  the  widow  says  that  we  mustn't 
do  a  bad  thing  in  order  to  bring  about  a  good 
one." 

"  I  daresay  that  is  so ;  but  oh,  Mooley,  I  am 
so  unhappy,"  and  Jersey  City  turned  away  his 
head  to  hide  the  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  seems  very  hard,"  observed  the  cow,  "  that 
just  as  the  widow  has  recovered  and  her  son  has 
come  home  with  some  money,  and  we  are  all  so 
happy,  that  that  miserable  Jimson  should  come 
for  you." 

"He  will  be  here  in  an  hour,"  said  Jersey 


70 


POOR  JKRSBY  aTY 


City  with  a  shudder,  "  and  I  shall  have  to  go 
back  to  that  old  show  with  him.  A  week  hence, 
Mooley,  you  may  think  of  me  jumping  and  roll- 
ing on  a  stage  covered  with  sawdust ;  my  poor 
tricks  drawing  shrieks  of  laughter  from  a 
crowded  house,  and  my  heart  like  to  break 
when  I  think  of  this  peaceful  home.  I  shall 
not  live  long,  that  is  one  consolation." 

"  Jersey  City,  don't,"  said  Mooley,  and  with  a 
quick,  ungainly  trot  she  started  for  her  stable. 

Jersey  City  ran  beside  her.  "  I  will  say  good- 
bye to  you  now,  Mooley,  for  Jimson  will  allow 
no  time  for  leave-taking,  and  I  must  spend  my 
last  minutes  with  my  mistress." 

Mooley  stopped  short  and  Jersey  City  went  on, 
"Good-bye,  good-bye,  dear  old  Mooley.  You 
have  been  a  kind  friend  to  me.  Some  people 
say  that  animals  do  not  love  each  other,  but  we 
know  that  that  is  not  true." 

The  cow  bent  her  head  till  it  almost  touched 
the  ground.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  could 
never  lift  it  up  again,  and  Jersey  City,  who  hated 
to  see  her  sufiFer,  hurried  away. 

The  widow  sat  by  the  fire  talking  to  her  son, 
who  was  a  fine,  strapping  young  man  with  red 
cheeks  and  curly  hair. 

Jersey  City  sprang  into  his  lap,  for  the  sailor 
had  petted  him  even  more  than  the  widow. 

"  Good  dog,"  said  the  sailor,  playing  with  the 
dog's  velvety  ears. 

*'  Here  is  the  man  now,"  exclaimed  old  Mrs. 
May,  as  a  sleigh  containing  the  grocer  and  Jim- 
son  drove  up  to  che  door.     "  Oh,  dear,  dear." 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


73^ 


A  terrible  feeling  came  over  Jersey  City  He 
crept  under  the  stove  and  tried  to  make  himself 
as  small  as  possible. 

He  was  a  brave  dog  and  had  planned  to  put  a 
bold  face  on  the  matter,  but  the  ordeal  was  too 
trying  for  him,  and  he  felt  like  a  timid  young 
pup. 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  sailor,  when  Jimson  had 
knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Ah,  good  afternoon,"  said  a  little,  thin,  wiry 
man  who  entered.  "  You  have  property  of  mine 
here,  I  think." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  the  sailor,  "and  not 
stolen  property  either.  This  dog  came  here  of 
his  own  free  will." 

"  I  daresay,  I  daresay,"  replied  Jimson  politely. 
"  Ah,  there  you  are,  Jersey  City ;  come  out  from 
under  the  stove." 

It  seemed  to  Jersey  City  that  the  bitterness  of 
death  was  upon  him.  With  a  hunted  look  in 
his  eyes  he  rushed  across  the  room  and  crouched 
tremblingly  at  the  sailor's  feet. 

The  young  man  laughed  sarcastically.  "  Your 
dog  does  not  seem  to  be  very  glad  to  see  you, 
sir,"  he  said,  addressing  Jimson. 

"  Do  you  call  him  Jersey  City  ? "  asked  the 
widow ;  "  what  a  strange  name." 

"  Yes,  it  is  peculiar,"  said  Jimson ;  "  he  was 
bom  in  Jersey  City,  that's  why  we  named  him 
so.  Come,  my  little  clown,"  and  drawing  a 
handsome  steel  chain  from  his  pocket,  he  walked 
toward  the  dog. 

"  Stop,"  exclaimed  the    sailor,   "  you    don't 


79 


POOR  JBSSBY  CITY 


touch  that  dog,  sir,  till  you  prove  to  us  that  he 
is  willing  to  go  with  you." 

"  Willing  to  go "  repeated  Jimson,  with  a 

black  look,  *'  why,  he^s  our  own  dog ;  and  I  can 
tell  you,  a  dog  that  costs  us  a  trip  from  New 
York  to  Canada  in  the  dead  of  winter  isn't  one 
we're  going  to  have  anybody  dictate  to  us  about." 

"  Come,  now,  that's  an  old-fashioned  doctrine," 
said  the  sailor.  "Formerly  a  man's  horse  or 
cow  or  dog  or  any  other  animal  was  his  to  do 
with  as  he  liked.  Now  the  law  says  if  a  man 
owns  a  dumb  beast  he's  got  to  be  merciful  to  it 
or  he'll  be  punished." 

"  I'd  like  to  have  any  one  prove  that  we  have 
been  cruel  to  this  dog,  or  to  any  other  animal 
we  own,"  said  Jimson  sneeringly. 

"  Prove — ah,  yes,  that's  where  you  have  the 
advantage,"  said  the  sailor.  "  I've  voyaged  a  bit, 
and  I  know  as  well  as  you  that  the  cruelty  that 
goes  on  in  dark  and  hidden  places  is  the  worst 
to  get  at  Look  at  that  dog  licking  my  feet  and 
begging  as  plainly  as  a  human  being  could  that 
we  will  save  him  from  you.  I  can't  prove  that 
you've  ever  beaten  him,  but  I  know  by  his 
actions  that  you've  done  it,  and  I  know  that 
you're  going  to  do  it  again  if  you  get  a  chance." 

"  Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Jimson  disdainfully,  "  and 
get  out  of  my  way.  I've  got  to  take  the  train 
in  thirty  minutes." 

Mrs.  May  opened  her  arms  and  took  in  the 
trembling  form  of  her  pet  "  My  son  is  right," 
she  said  firmly  to  Jimson.  "  Poor  Rover  is  un- 
happy ;  you  shall  not  have  him.'* 


POOR  JBItSBY  CITY 


73 


)) 


Jimson  fell  into  a  terrible  rage.  **  I  never  saw 
such  fools  in  my  life,'^  he  said  in  a  low,  furious 
voice.  "  That  dog  is  worth  five  hundred  dollars 
to  us.  Do  you  suppose  we  are  going  to  give 
him  up  for  such  trumpery  notions  as  these  ?  " 

*'  Sit  down,  sit  down,  sir,"  said  the  sailor,  **  and 
take  things  coolly.  You  don't  understand  us 
yet.  I'll  just  explain  to  you.  Here's  a  dog  that 
ran  away  from  you ;  probably  you  treated  him 
so  well  that  he  felt  embarrassed.  He  came  to 
my  mother.  She  petted  him,  and  when  she  fell 
ill  he  brought  some  one  to  her  and  saved  her 
life.  The  man  that  helped  her  does  the  dog  a 
bad  turn  by  letting  you  know  that  he  is  here. 
You  come,  and  if  the  dog  had  jumped  on  you 
and  licked  your  hands  as  he  licks  mine,  I'd  have 
let  you  take  him.     But  what  does  he  do " 

"  Do,"  repeated  Jimson  sullenly,  "  it's  none  of 
your  business  what  he  does.  He  hasn't  seen  me 
for  six  months,  and  I'm  going  to  have  him,  so 
you  just  hold  up." 

"Does  a  dog  ever  forget  a  good  master?'* 
asked  the  sailor  warmly.  "  Never — ^not  so  long 
as  he  has  breath.  That  dog  fears  you  with  all 
the  power  he  has,  and  I  tell  you  you're  not  going 
*  to  have  him  to-day,  so  the  sooner  you  make  up 
your  mind  to  that  the  better.  I'm  only  a  poor 
man,  and  you  can  get  the  law  on  me  if  you 
choose.  I'll  go  to  court  and  the  judge  can  see 
for  himself  how  the  dog  acts.  Then  if  the  law 
gives  him  to  you,  I'll  follow  you  wherever  you're 
going,  and  if  there's  any  kind  of  society  that'll 
watch  you,  I'll  set  them  to  work,  and  if  I'm 


74 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


spared,  I'll  be  with  you  wherever  you  are,  and 
ni  take  the  liberty  of  telling  the  kind  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  who  are  probably  your  patrons, 
this  little  story  about  your  clown  dog." 

Jimson  looked  speechlessly  at  the  young  man. 

"  I'm  not  down  on  shows  in  general,"  pursued 
the  sailor ;  "  I  daresay  there  may  be  some  where 
dumb  animals  are  well  treated,  but  I  claim  that 
there's  many  a  cruel  one,  and  I  believe  yours  is 
one  of  them.  Perhaps  if  you  take  your  own 
clown  dog  and  have  me  trailing  around  after  you 
explaining  why  he  doesn't  put  much  heart  in 
his  tricks,  you'll  wish  that  you  had  listened  to 


» 


me. 

The  sailor  was  a  very  resolute  looking  young 
man  and  Jimson  stared  at  him,  wondering  if  he 
would  do  what  he  said. 

"I  brought  home  a  little  money  to  my 
mother,"  said  the  sailor.  "I'll  give  you  fifty 
dollars  of  it  if  you  like." 

Fifty  dollars — ^Jimson  glared  wrathfuUy  at 
him.  Fifty  dollars,  and  he  had  said  that  the  dog 
was  worth  five  hundred  dollars.  However  it 
was  better  than  nothing.  "Put  your  money 
aside,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice,  "  and  you'll 
hear  from  me."  Then  he  rushed  from  the 
room.  He  saw  plainly  that  he  couldn't  get  the 
dog  that  afternoon  and  he  would  have  to  consult 
his  employers  before  doing  anything  further. 

"  Don't  you  ever  come  sneaking  around  here 
to  steal  him,"  called  the  sailor  as  he  stood  in  the 
doorway  and  watched  Jimson  get  into  the  sleigh. 
"  I'm  going  to  stay  home  now  and  work  the 


POOR  JBRSBY  CITY 


75 


fann,  and  Pm  fond  of  the  dog  and  he  is  fond  of 
me,  so  he'll  never  be  more  than  two  feet  away 
from  me.  Try  to  be  a  little  kinder  to  your 
other  animals  or  they'll  be  running  away  too.'* 

Jimson  sprang  into  the  sleigh  and  drove  away 
as  fast  as  he  could. 

♦'  I  wonder  what  he'll  do,"  said  Mrs.  May 
thoughtfully  as  she  and  her  son  re-entered  the 
house. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  young  sailor ;  "  but  I 
have  made  up  my  mind,  mother,  that  he's  got  to 
have  a  struggle  if  he  wants  to  get  our  little 
brother  here  away  from  us,"  and  he  laughingly 
surrendered  one  ear  to  Jersey  City,  who  in  a 
transport  of  gratitude  had  sprung  on  his  knees 
and  was  trying  to  lick  his  face. 

"  So,  so,  good  dog — that  will  do — we're  going 
to  have  a  long  life  together  I  hope,"  said  the 
young  man. 

Jersey  City  leaped  on  the  floor,  ran  round  and 
round  the  room  a  dozen  times  as  if  he  were 
crazy,  then  dashed  out  to  the  stable  to  tell  the 
joyful  news  to  Mooley. 

The  cow  was  almost  beside  herself  with  joy. 
She  could  not  speak  for  a  long  time  and  looked 
as  if  she  had  been  struck  dumb.  At  last  she 
said  solemnly :  "  Jersey  City,  do  you  think  that 
bad  man  will  ever  come  back  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  dog  wildly ;  "  I  understand 
Jimson  better  than  the  sailor  does.  It  would 
never  do  for  him  to  get  into  the  papers.  It 
would  ruin  his  business.  The  Bankstons  will 
be  very  angry,  but  they  won't  dare  to  molest  the 


.  *^-:iAismamtmMmt» 


r'lTV:""  -        f 


76 


POOR  JBRSBY  aXY 


sailor,  for  the  people  who  go  to  their  show  are 
good  people  and  if  they  thought  the  animals 
were  cruelly  treated  they  would  make  a  fuss  and 
the  Bankstons  would  be  ruined.  They  will  send 
for  the  fifty  dollars  and  let  me  stay.  Oh,  oh,  I  am 
so  happy.  I  cannot  keep  my  paws  still — ^I  must 
go  for  a  run  in  the  orchard." 

"  Can*t  you  do  some  tricks  here  ? "  said  the 
cow ;  "  that  standing  on  the  head  is  a  beautiful 
one." 

"  I  will  do  it  to  please  you,  Mooley,  but  after 
that  I  shall  never  do  any  more  tricksj"  said 
Jersey  City.  "  They  make  my  muscles  ache  and 
the  blood  rush  to  my  head.  Here  goes  for  the  last 
trick  of  Bankston  and  Sons'  clown  dog."  And 
he  walked  all  around  the  stable  on  his  fore  legs, 
then  rushed  out  into  the  open  air  where  for  an 
hour  and  more  the  cow  saw  him  careering  over 
the  snowy  ground. 

Jersey  City  was  right.  Jimson  never  returned, 
but  he  sent  for  the  fifty  dollars  ;  and  at  this  day 
the  famous  five  hundred  dollar  clown  dog  of 
Bankston  and  Sons*  Great  Show  is  living  con- 
tentedly and  happily  with  the  widow  and  her 
son  on  the  shores  of  the  beautiful  Bedford  Basin 
of  Halifax  harbor,  Nova  Scotia. 


low  are 
mimals 
uss  and 
ill  send 
h,  I  am 
-I  must 

aid  the 
^autiful 

ut  after 
s/'  said 
che  and 
the  last 
"  And 
•re  legs, 
i  for  an 
ng  over 

itumed, 
this  day 
dog  of 
ng  con- 
ind  her 
d  Basin 


1  / 


"'  It's  a  fine  day,"  he  said,  lijoliing  over  liis  hhoulder. 


:  t 


Page  luo. 


' 


Ill 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


:HEN  he  was  a  boy  he  was  neither  one 
of  the  best  nor  one  of  the  worst  of 
boys,  as  he  himself  realized  when  he 
said  to  his  mother,  "  I  guess  I  am  a 
pretty  middling  sort  of  a  chap,  am  I 
not,  mother  ?  " 

He  had  his  good  times  and  his  bad  times.  I 
think  he  really  tried  to  be  good — except  occa- 
sionally. 

One  thing  that  helped  him  to  overcome  his 
faults  was  the  very  careful  teaching  that  he  got 
from  his  aunt  and  his  mother.  They  were  both 
busy  women,  for  they  lived  in  a  big  farmhouse, 
but  they  knew  quite  well  that  there  is  no  more 
important  work  in  the  world  for  a  woman  to  do 
than  to  train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should 
go ;  so  merry,  mischievous  Master  Fritz  received 
many  a  lesson  from  them  in  laws  of  kindness 
toward  his  fellow-beings  and  in  his  duty  toward 
the  lower  creation  and  toward  his  Maker. 

At  times  his  mind  seemed  to  be  running  over 
with  Bible  truths.  At  such  times  he  put  on  a 
little  leather  apron  and  went  into  a  tiny  work- 
shop that  his  father  had  fitted  up  for  him. 


78 


WHEN   HE  WAS  A  BOY 


"  I  wish  to  be  a  carpenter,"  he  said,  "  because 
Jesus  was  a  carpenter." 

For  days  his  mother  and  aunt  would  not  have 
to  complain  of  him.  Then  like  many  older 
people  he  would  come  out  of  his  workshop,  in 
which  he  seemed  to  leave  all  his  good  resolu- 
tions, and  taking  off  his  apron  he  would  become 
just  as  troublesome  as  he  could  be. 

"  I  think  I  shall  have  to  whip  you,  Fritz,"  his 
father  said  one  evening  when  he  came  in  from 
a  long,  cold  drive  from  the  town  near  them  and 
found  that  Fritz  had  eaten  a  mince  pie  and  ten 
plum  tarts  that  he  had  been  told  not  to  touch. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  whip  me  for?  "  asked 
Fritz. 

He  had  climbed  on  his  father^s  lap  and  they 
sat  as  cosily  as  possible  before  a  leaping  blaze  in 
the  open  fireplace  of  the  sitting  room. 

"  Because  you  are  so  disobedient,"  said  his 
father,  holding  his  head  up  very  straight  so  that 
he  might  not  be  tempted  to  kiss  the  little  brown 
pate  resting  so  confidingly  on  his  bosom. 

"Oh,  don't  bother,"  said  Fritz  reassuringly; 
"  I'll  grow  out  of  it." 

"  But  you  are  getting  worse." 

"  Didn't  you  get  worse  before  you  got  better 
when  you  were  a  boy,  father  ?  " 

Mr.  Herman  bit  his  moustache.  He  had  been 
a  pretty  lively  boy  himself  and  had  had  many  a 
whipping. 

*'  Fritz,  I  have  got  to  whip  ycu.  Yov  mother 
and  Aunt  Lotta  will  be  in  presently,  and  they 
asked  me  to  do  so.     Go,  get  me  the  stick." 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


79 


"  Honor  bright,  father  ?  "  asked  Fritz,  starting 
up  and  looking  into  the  dark  bearded  face, 
usually  good-natured  and  now  anxious  and 
worried. 

"  Yes,  honor  bright,  son ;  you  have  been  as  bad 
as  you  could  be  the  last  few  days." 

Fritz  slipped  off  his  father's  knee.  "  I  don't 
much  approve  of  beatings,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  and  I  guess  you  don't  either ;  suppose  we  com 
— com — what  is  it  you  say  ?  " 

"  Compromise,"  suggested  Mr.  Herman. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it.  Beating  does  not  do  me  any 
good,  father,"  and  the  child  lowered  his  voice  to 
a  confidential  tone.  "  It  just  makes  me  mad 
with  you  and  wish  I  could  hit  back ;  but  I  tell 
you  what  would  make  me  feel  real,  truly  sorry." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  To  make  me  take  off  all  my  clothes  and 
jump  into  bed  in  the  daytime — in  the  middle  of 
the  day,  mind,"  said  Fritz  glancing  uneasily 
aboi^t  the  pleasant  room. 

"  Indeed,"  said  his  father ;  "  well,  we  shall  re- 
member that  to-morrow  and  try  it  if  you  are  bad 
again.     And  in  the  meantime  you  may  go  to  bed 


>» 


now. 

"  Oh,  come,  father,"  said  the  child,  "  you  would 
not  send  me  off  now  when  you  have  just  come 
home  and  have  not  had  your  tea,  and  I  know 
you  have  a  present  in  your  pocket  for  me." 

"  Go,  child,"  said  Mr.  Herman,  standing  up  so 
that  Fritz  could  not  get  on  his  knee  again. 
"  You  know  that  I  do  not  like  to  punish  you,  so 
make  haste." 


8o 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


I 


I 


I 


"  Oh,  oh,  my  heart  is  broken,  but  I  will  mind 
you,  father,"  and  Fritz  clung  miserably  to  the 
legs  of  the  tall  man.  "  You  will  kiss  me,  father, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"And  let  me  say  my  prayers  here  by  the 
fire?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  be  asking  too  much  of 
you  to  come  and  see  me  into  bed." 

"  Where  would  the  punishment  come  in,  son  ? 
You  would  get  me  upstairs  telling  stories  to  you 
and  then  Aunt  Lotta  and  mamma  would  be 
vexed.     Dinah  will  see  to  you." 

"  When  the  Lord  gives  people  little  children, 
dcesn't  he  want  them  to  be  kind  to  them  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Fritz  ;  but  you  don't  understand.  God 
would  be  angry  with  me  if  I  let  you  have  your 
own  way  all  the  time.  You  know  one  of  his 
servants,  called  Solomon,  says  that  if  you  spare 
the  rod  you  spoil  the  child." 

"  Is  that  in  the  Bible,  father  ?  " 

i(  Yes." 

"  In  the  new  Bible  ?  " 

"The  Revised  version?  yes,  it  is.  I  wish 
I  could  make  you  understand  that  we  are  all 
punished  when  we  do  wrong.  God  is  my  father 
as  well  as  yours,  and  if  I  do  not  obey  him  and 
keep  his  commandments  he  punishes  me  just  as 
I  punish  you." 

"  Do  you  do  wrong,  father  ?  " 

"Yes,  often." 

"  I  did  not  think  you  did,"  said  Fritz  thought- 


t 


WHSN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


8l 


fully;  "and  anyway,  if  you  do,  what  business 
have  you  to  punish  little  children  ?  " 

"That   is   something   I   do   not   understand, 
Fritz,"   said    Mr.   Herman   humbly.      "I  only 


know  that  we  are  all  sinners,  men, 


women,  and 


children,  and  we  have  to  obey  God  and  keep  his 
commandments  or  we  shall  have  no  happiness 
in  this  world  or  the  world  to  come." 

"  Perhaps  God  does  not  think  it  is  a  sin  for 
little  boys  to  eat  pies  and  tarts  when  they  are 
hungry." 

"  He  does  if  they  are  forbidden  to  touch 
them." 

"  What,  even  if  they  starve  to  death  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  starving,  and  you  may  always 
have  bread  and  butter." 

"It  is  slow  work,  father,  eating  bread  and 
butter  all  the  time." 

"  Do  you  want  to  be  a  tall,  handsome  man  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  like  you,  father." 

"Then  you  must  eat  bread  and  butter,  and 
porridge  and  milk,  and  very  little  cake  and 
candy  and  pies.  Now  I  think  you  had  better 
stop  trying  to  spin  out  this  conversation.'* 

"  I  will  say  my  prayers,"  said  Fritz,  and  kneel- 
ing down  he  prayed  a  long  time  that  God  -  *  cv.ld 
bless  his  dear  father  and  grandmother  ni.d  cous- 
ins and  all  the  neighbors  and  the  Door  little 
children  who  had  no  comfortable  homes  and  all 
the  heathen  in  foreign  lands." 

"  You  have  forgotten  your  mother  and  aunt," 
said  his  father  quietly  when  the  boy  got  off  his 
knees. 


89 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


I 


Fritz  turned  his  flushed  face  angrily  toward 
him,  "  I  don't  pray  for  such  folks." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Aren't  they  getting  me  punished  ?  "  and  the 
little  lad  stamped  his  foot  and  glanced  toward 
the  kitchen  door.  "  I  wish  a  great  black  bear 
would  come  out  of  the  woods  and  eat  them  both 
up." 

"  Now  go  right  to  bed  and  think  that  over,'* 
said  Mr.  Herman.  "  Just  fancy  what  your  feel- 
ings would  be  if  you  really  saw  a  big  bear  trot- 
ting off  to  the  woods  with  your  dear  mother  in 
his  mouth  and  your  aunt  L/Otta  on  his  back  and 
you  and  I  crying  and  waving  our  hands  to  them 
from  the  doorway.  No — I  don't  care  to  kiss  you 
again  after  that  speech  about  your  mother. 
Good-night,  and  if  you  feel  ashamed  of  it  run 
downstairs  for  a  minute  and  call  through  the 
keyhole,  *I  will  drive  that  bear  away  if  he 
comes.'     Then  I  shall  know  that  you  are  sorry." 

Fritz  slowly  left  the  room  and  wandered  up 
the  wide  oaken  stairway  to  his  little  white  room, 
where  he  found  Dinah,  the  maid,  waiting  for 
him. 

She  knew  that  he  was  being  sent  to  bed 
earlier  than  usual  and  forbore  to  make  any  re- 
marks as  she  helped  him  to  undress. 

"  Here  is  your  medicine,"  she  said  when  he 
stood  before  her  in  his  long  white  gown  all 
ready  to  jump  into  bed. 

Fritz  wrath^uUy  pushed  aside  the  tumbler, 
"I  have  taken  thousands  and  thousands  of 
trashes,  and  I  am  not  going  to  take  any  more." 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


83 


(( 


"  Then  I  must  call  your  mamma,"  said  Dinah. 

Fritz  did  not  wish  to  see  his  mother  just  then. 

Here,  give  it  to  me,"  he  exclaimed,  and  he 
swallowed  the  brown  draug^ht  at  a  mouthful 
and  sprang  between  the  sheets  of  his  snowy  bed. 

Dinah  put  out  the  light  and  went  away  and 
Fritz  lay  with  eyes  wide  open  staring  at  the 
windows  where  the  blinds  were  drawn  up  and 
the  shutters  thrown  back  so  that  he  could  look 
out  toward  the  stable  and  the  barn  where  the 
animals  that  he  so  dearly  loved  were  sleeping. 

Suppose  Satan  should  have  heard  his  wish  and 
really  send  a  bear  to  carry  off  his  dear  mother. 
Bears  often  took  sheep  away  in  the  night.  His 
mother  slept  on  the  first  floor  and  her  window 
was  always  wide  open.  He  had  often  seen  her 
there  in  the  daytime  when  she  had  a  headache, 
her  flaxen  hair  streaming  over  the  pillow,  her 
blue  eyes  closed.  A  bear  might  jump  right  in 
beside  her  if  he  crept  softly  to  the  window. 
"  Well,"  he  muttered,  "  I  do  not  care,  she  is  a 
bad  mother.  Let  the  bears  have  her."  And  he 
turned  over  and  went  to  sleep. 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  a  dream  that  seemed 
hours  long. 

He  fancied  that  a  bear  had  taken  his  mother 
and  his  aunt  and  when  he  waked  up  in  the 
morning  there  was  no  one  to  stand  over  him  and 
say  merrily,  "  Wake  up  little  son  and  run  a  race 
with  mother.  Let  us  see  which  will  be  first 
dressed." 

There  was  no  one  to  pour  out  the  coffee  at 
breakfast  time  for  his  father ;  no  one  to  laugh 


84 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


and  chatter  and  make  jokes ;  no  one  to  unfasteis 
the  troublesome  knots  that  came  in  his  strings 
so  many  times  through  the  day  ;  no  one  to  wash 
and  dress  him  and  take  him  to  the  town. 

The  house  was  lonely  and  still  and  finally  he 
began  to  cry  and  waked  himself  up. 

"Oh,  mother,  mother,"  he  groaned,  'come 
back  to  Fritz.  Have  you  gone,  or  where  are 
you  ?  "  and  he  stumbled  out  of  bed. 

"  That  wicked  old  Satan  that  puts  bad  thoughts 
in  my  head,  I  wish  the  bears  would  get  him. 
Oh,  oh,"  and  moaning  and  sobbing  he  felt  his 
way  into  the  hall  where  a  light  was  burning,  and 
throwing  his  little  bare  leg  over  the  baluster  to 
expedite  matters  he  slid  downstairs. 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  he  gasped,  opening  the  sit- 
ting-room door  and  putting  up  his  arm  to  shield 
his  eyes,  for  the  bright  light  had  dazzled  him. 
"  Oh,  father,  you  did  not  let  the  bear  come,  did 
you  ?  Where  is  my  mother  ?  "  and  he  stamped 
his  foot  and  looked  desperately  at  the  surprised 
occupants  of  the  room. 

Aunt  Lotta  was  there  and  several  young  people 
of  the  neighborhood  who  had  come  in  to  call, 
and  they  had  been  laughing  and  talking  and 
having  a  good  time  till  Fritz  appeared. 

"  Where  is  she  ? "  he  screamed,  for  by  this 
time  he  had  seen  that  his  mother  was  not  in  the 
room. 

"  Oh  ! "  and  he  gave  a  joyful  shriek  and  rushed 
toward  the  kitchen  door  that  opened  at  that  in- 
stant, and  showed  his  mother  entering  with  a 
tray  full  of  dishes  of  ice  cream  in  her  hands. 


1/       ! 


WHEN   as  WAS  A  BOY 


85 


Away  went  the  ice  cream,  and  away  went 
Mrs.  Herman's  composure  as  she  found  her  ex- 
cited son  clinging^  wildly  to  her  and  shouting 
threats  as  if  he  was  crazy  against  all  the  bears 
that  ever  were  born. 

*'  Child  of  my  heart,"  she  ejaculated,  "  hast 
thou  lost  thy  senses  ?  " 

"  Alas,  the  ice-cream  dishes,"  exclaimed  Aunt 
Lotta,  they  are  all  broken — every  one,  and  the 
cream  is  on  the  carpet" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Herman.  "  Give  the 
boy  to  me ;  I  will  explain." 

Fritz,  however,  would  not  leave  his  mother. 
"  You  must  not  go  out  to-night,  little  mother," 
he  said  in  German,  which  he  spoke  as  well  as 
English ;  "  neither  to  the  stable  to  see  the  dogs, 
nor  to  the  poultry  yard,  nor  to  the  well,  nor  the 
gate.  Tell  me  you  will  not  go  out — ^and  mother, 
beware  of  the  bears  that  steal  the  sheep.  They 
will  never  take  you,  little  house-mother,  because 
you  are  good  and  fair,  but  beware  of  them," 
and  shuddering  violently  the  child  clasped  her 
close  to  him. 

"  What  is  wrong  with  thee  ?  "  murmured  his 
mother  stroking  his  head.  "Thou  art  trem- 
bling like  a  little  frightened  lamb.  Carl,"  and 
she  turned  to  her 'husband,  "thinkest  thou  it  is 
the  pie  he  has  eaten  ?  Five  minutes  ago,  when 
I  went  to  his  room,  he  was  sleeping  like  a  baby." 

"  You  will  sleep  with  me  to-night,  mother," 
said  Fritz  earnestly,  "  in  my  little  bed ;  for  bears 
do  not  climb  except  in  the  trees.  Promise  me, 
promise,  mother,"  and  his  voice  rose  to  a  shriek. 


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86 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Herman  soothingly,  "  I 
will  draw  another  bed  close  to  thine  and  thou 
shalt  rest  with  thy  hand  in  thy  mother's.  Poor 
little  lad,"  and  holding  his  fingers  tightly  in  hers 
she  excused  herself  from  her  guests  and  went  up- 
stairs with  him. 


Fritz  was  a  very  subdued  little  boy  the  next 
morning  and  all  through  the  day,  and  Aunt  Lotta 
watching  him  murmured  roguishly,  "  If  it  were 
not  unkind  I  should  wish  that  the  scare  of  the 
bears  might  continue — ^so  good  is  our  little  man." 

When  the  evening  came — ^the  best  time  of  the 
day  for  Fritz,  because  his  father  had  then  leisure 
enough  to  take  him  on  his  knee  and  talk  to  him 
— he  sat  by  the  fire  singing  softly  to  himself,  "  I 
want  to  be  an  angel." 

"  Sing  it  once  again,"  said  his  father  coming 
quietly  into  the  room. 

Fritz  sang  the  hymn  through  once  more  in  a 
pretty  childish  voice,  then  relapsed  into  silence. 

"  Why  do  you  shudder  ?  "  asked  his  father, 
passing  his  hand  over  the  little  frame  pressed 
close  against  him. 

Fritz  murmured  something  about  the  bears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  his  father,  "  where  is  my 
brave  boy  ? "  and  with  a  merry  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  You  are  too  hard  on  my  friends  the  bears, 
that  I  loved  so  much  when  I  was  a  little  lad. 
Why,  my  mother  used  to  tell  me  many  and  many 
tales  of  kind  bears  that  played  with  children." 

"  Do  bears  really  play  with  children,  father  ?  " 
asked  Fritz. 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


»7 


"I 


>i 


**  No,  I  cannot  say  that  they  do ;  but  a  bear 
would  not  hurt  you,  my  small  man,  if  you  let 
him  alone.  He  would  run  from  you.  My 
mother^s  stories  used  to  begin  something  like 
this :  Once  upon  a  time  there  were  some  little 
children  going  berrying.  They  did  not  know 
where  they  would  find  a  good  place  till  they  met 
a  kind  old  bear  with  her  young  ones,  who  said, 
*  Come  along,  children,  I  always  know  where  the 
best  berries  are  and  I  will  show  you  a  fine  spot.*  '* 
"  And  would  the  children  go,  my  father  ?  " 
"Always — ^in  my  mother's  stories.  They 
would  fill  their  baskets  with  strawberries,  or  rasp- 
berries, or  blackberries,  or  whatever  the  fruit 
was  that  they  were  after,  then  the  old  bear  would 
escort  them  to  her  den  and  entertain  them  with 
stories  of  life  in  the  woods  until  they  had  to  go 
home.  There  was  never  any  talk  of  wild  bad 
bears  from  my  mother." 

"  But  those  tales  were  made  up,  my  father." 
"  Yes,  son ;  but  I  can  tell  you  true  ones  of  ani- 
mals, ever  so  many  of  them,  where  there  is  no 
killing  either  on  the  side  of  man  or  beast.  I 
lived,  you  know,  as  a  boy,  in  a  little  house  in  the 
woods  and  my  father  used  to  go  out  again  and 
again  without  a  gun  simply  for  the  pleasure  of 
observing  the  habits  of  wild  animals.  He  used 
to  play  tricks  on  them  too ;  many  a  time  have 
I  seen  him  sitting  laughing  by  our  fireside,  as  he 
related  funny  things  to  my  mother  and  me. 
Shall  I  tell  you  the  story  of  a  fox  that  he  out- 
witted ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  father." 


88 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


**  Well,  he  was  a  great  mimic,  this  father  of 
mine,  and  could  deceive  almost  any  animal  that 
roamed  through  the  woods.  One  day  after  a 
light  snow  he  found  the  recent  tracks  of  a  fox 
on  the  ground.  He  crept  behind  an  uprooted 
tree  lying  near  by  and  began  to  chirp  and  squeak 
like  a  mouse.  By-and-by  he  saw  a  fox  come 
trotting  along,  now  stopping  to  listen,  now  hold- 
ing up  one  foot  then  another,  for,  as  you  know, 
foxes  are  very  wise  creatures.  Presently  the 
fox  got  on  the  tree  trunk  and  began  to  creep  up 
toward  the  roots,  where  he  hoped  to  find  a  fat 
mouse.  My  father  stopped  chirping,  the  fox 
looked  over  the  roots,  my  father  sprang  up  and 
said  *  Hello,*  and  the  fox  in  his*  great  surprise 
fell  over  and  over  to  the  ground,  then  ran  away 
like  the  wind.  The  face  of  the  fox  as  he  stared 
at  a  man  instead  of  the  mouse  he  expected  to 
find,  was,  my  father  said,  the  most  ludicrous  thing 
he  had  ever  seen." 

"  Was  it  right  to  deceive  the  fox,  my  father  ?  " 

Mr.  Herman  smiled  down  at  his  son.  "  Well, 
Fritz,  strictly  speaking  I  suppose  it  was  not ;  yet 
it  was  better  than  shooting  him.  I  think  we 
might  look  upon  it  in  the  light  of  a  practical 
joke." 

"  Please  tell  me  about  *  Woxie,  Woxie,  come 
out  from  under  the  bam,*  '*  said  Fritz. 

Mr.  Herman  laughed  outright.  "You  never 
get  tired  of  that  tale,  do  you  ?  Here  it  is  again  : 
Years  ago,  when  I  was  little  more  than  a  baby, 
my  father  had  a  tame  young  fox  that  I  played 
with  a  great  deal  of  the  time.    One  day  my 


t 
I 
f 
1 
t 

(I 
t 

n 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


•9 


come 


father  wished  to  sell  him  to  a  man  who  came  for 
him  ;  but  the  fox,  as  if  he  knew  he  was  to  be  sepa- 
rated from  me,  ran  under  the  bam  and  no  per- 
son could  induce  him  to  come  out  At  last  my 
father  told  me  to  call  him,  and  I  went  down  on 
my  hands  and  knees  and  called,  *  Woxie,  Woxie, 
come  out  from  under  the  bam.* " 

"  And  the  little  red  fox  ran  out,"  intermpted 
Fritz  eagerly,  "  and  crouched  down  beside  you, 
and  your  father  would  not  sell  him,  because  you 
loved  him  so  much." 

"No,  he  did  not  sell  him,"  said  Mr.  Herman 
thoughtfully ;  "  poor  little  fox,  I  wish  he  had." 

"Did  you  cry  when  he  was  shot?"  asked 
Fritz. 

"  Yes,  I  did ;  and  for  many  a  night  I  waked  up 
in  my  sleep  calling  for  Woxie." 

"  It  was  naughty  for  the  young  man  to  shoot 
him,"  said  Fritz. 

"  Yes,  it  was ;  he  might  have  known  he  was  a 
tame  fox  when  he  saw  him  mnning  about  our 
bam ;  but  he  aimed  and  fired  at  him  before  my 
father  could  interfere.  Men  are  so  ready  to  take 
life  unnecessarily.  Now,  child,  it  is  your  bed- 
time." 

"  Good  night,  my  father,"  said  Fritz  quietly ; 
"  to-morrow  will  you  tell  me  more  stories  about 
the  woods  ?  " 

"As  many  as  you  like,"  said  Mr.  Herman 
kissing  the  little  boy.  "Pleasant  dreams,  and 
may  God  watch  over  you,  my  little  son." 


For  a  whole  week  Fritz  had  been  a  good  boy 


90 


WHSN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


and  had  not  once  disobeyed  his  parents  or  Aurt 
LrOtta. 

Then  a  morning  came  when  he  got  up  feeling 
rather  cross.  He  frowned  at  himself  in  the 
glass,  pulled  at  his  shoe  strings  till  he  broke 
them  both,  and  finally  went  to  the  breakfast 
table  with  so  discontented  a  face  that  Aimt 
IvOtta  shook  her  head  and  murmured,  "  A  change 
comes." 

However,  every  one  was  careful  to  say  some- 
thing pleasant  to  him,  and  he  got  through  break- 
fast without  an  outbreak  of  temper.  After  that 
he  did  not  go  for  a  scamper  with  his  dogs  as  he 
usually  did,  but  hung  about  the  kitchen  watch- 
ing his  Aunt  Lotta  and  Dinah  wash  the  break- 
fast dishes. 

His  mother  had  shut  herself  up  in  the  dairy 
and  his  father  had  gone  to  oversee  some  plow- 
ing. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Herman  came  out  of  the 
dairy  and  looked  at  him.  "  It  is  time  for  lessons, 
Fritz,"  she  said. 

The  little  boy  followed  her  to  the  sitting  room. 
"  Don't  you  think  I  am  a  pretty  big  boy  to  be 
doing  lessons  at  home  ?  "  he  said  fretfully. 

His  mother  sat  down  at  the  table  and  drew 
some  books  from  the  drawer.  "  No,"  she  said, 
"  I  do  not  think  so ;  thou  shalt  soon  go  to  school, 
little  man.  I  wish  it  were  not  so  far  away.  And 
thou  knowest  so  little.  I  should  be  ashamed  to 
have  thee  compared  w*th  the  lads  at  the  Four 
Corners  schoolhouse.  Dost  thou  remember  how 
to  spell  horse,  Fritz  ?  " 


m 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


91 


"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  the  little  boy ;  "  and  what 
does  it  matter?    I  can  say  it." 

"  Suppose  thou  hadst  a  letter  <-o  write,"  said 
his  mother  softly,,  in  German. 

"I  would  picture  the  animal,"  said  Fritz 
calmly.  "See,  here  is  one,"  and  with  a  few 
strokes  of  a  pencil  he  drew  a  really  creditable 
horse  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

His  mother  sighed.  "  But,  Fritz,  thou  couldst 
not  send  a  series  of  drawings  to  thy  friends, 
though  thou  art  really  clever  with  thy  pencil. 
Come  now,  be  reasonable ;  try  to  remember  how 
the  word  is  spelt." 

"  H-o-r-s,"  said  Fritz  boldly. 

"  No,  my  son,  h-or-s-e." 

"  Well,  but  mother,  why  not  h-o-r-s  ?  If  the  *  e ' 
is  there  I  see  no  use  for  it." 

"And  I  do  not,"  she  said  frankly;  "yet  it 
exists,  and  thou  must  remember  it." 

"  Mother,"  he  said  firmly,  "  I  feel  that  I  hate 
study  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Herman  closed  the  books.  "  I  see  that," 
she  said  sadly.  "Fritz,  didst  thou  say  thy 
prayers  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No,  mother,  I  did  not." 

"  And  thou  wilt  kneel  down  now  and  ask  the 
Lord  Jesus  to  take  the  bad  spirit  from  out  thy 
heart." 

"  No,  mother,  I  will  not." 

"  Then,  Fritz,  what  wilt  thou  do  ?  " 

"  I  will  run  and  play,  little  mother ;  then  if  I 
come  not  back  in  an  hour  thou  canst  punish 


me. 


)) 


93 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


"  Oh,  the  odd  boy,"  said  Aunt  Lotta  to  herself, 
as  she  came  into  the  room  to  go  to  the  cupboard. 

"Go,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Herman  to  her  son; 
"  but  first  let  thy  mother  kiss  thee,"  and  draw- 
ing the  little  sturdy  figure  to  her  she  kissed  the 
dark  stubborn  face  again  and  again,  then  she 
added  softly,  "  I  shall  pray  that  thou  mayst  come 
back  with  thy  evil  temper  gone." 

Fritz  did  not  kiss  her.  "  Let  me  go,  mother," 
he  said,  pulling  away  from  her.  "I  feel  like 
Saul,  the  king  of  Israel,  who  threw  the  javelin 
at  David." 

"  Then  linger,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  let  me 
sing  to  thee  until  better  thoughts  shall  come." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Fritz,  "  I  am  choking,"  and  he 
hurried  out  to  the  front  hall  where  he  stood  a 
long  time  on  the  doorstep  kicking  his  feet. 

What  should  he  do  with  himself?  Away 
before  him  stretched  a  wonderful  view  of  moun- 
tain, valley,  and  lake,  but  he  was  in  no  mood  to 
be  charmed  by  the  beauty  of  natural  scenery. 
He  seized  a  cap  from  the  rack  behind  him,  and 
plunging  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  hurried 
down  the  walk  to  the  front  gate. 

The  dogs  shut  up  in  the  stable  yard  at  a  short 
distance  from  him  heard  his  steps  and  barked 
with  impatience ;  but  he  did  not  go  to  let  them 
out,  though  he  knew  that  to  keep  them  confined 
on  so  charming  a  morning  was  one  of  the  most 
unkind  things  he  could  do  to  them. 

With  their  howls  sounding  in  his  ears,  he 
went  doggedly  down  the  walk  and  struck  into 
the  road  leading  away  from  the  town,  and  for 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


93 


three  hours  instead  of  one  his  mother  did  not  see 
him. 


and 


At  noon  when  Mr.  Herman  came  back  his 
his  wife  told  him  of  Fritz'  disappearance. 

"  I  will  go  to  find  him,"  he  said. 

"  Without  thy  dinner  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied ;  "  a  boy  is  of  more  impor- 
tance than  a  meal."  He  was  just  starting  from 
the  house  when  he  caught  sight  of  Fritz  coming 
up  the  road. 

They  stood  in  the  doorway  and  watched  him. 
He  was  dragging  himself  along  in  a  rather 
weary  fashion;  but  when  he  caught  sight  of 
them  he  straightened  himself  and  marched  up 
the  gravel  walk,  slashing  the  top  of  his  high 
russet  boots  in  a  manly  fashion  with  a  smart 
whip  that  he  carried  in  his  hand. 

"  Well,  father  and  mother,"  he  said  politely, 
lifting  his  cap  as  he  approached  them  and  look- 
ing  boldly  into  their  faces ;  "  I  have  both  good 
and  bad  news  for  you." 

"  Indeed,"  said  his  father. 

"  Yes,  father ;  Frank  Bray  gave  me  this  fine 
whip ;  that  is  the  good  news." 

"  And  the  bad  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  I  broke  their  parlor  window." 

"  Alas,  that  colored  window  that  they  are  so 
proud  of,"  exclaimed  his  mother. 

"  The  very  one,  little  mother." 

"  How  did  you  break  it  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  I  was  throwing  stones  at  the  swallows  with 
Frank  and— 


_»» 


94 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


"Thou,"  cried  Mrs.  Herman,  in  a  dolorous 
voice,  "throwing  stones  at  the  dear  birds  that 
thou  lovest  so  much." 

"  Even  so,  mother.  I  was  in  a  bad  temper.  I 
felt  that  I  could  kill  something." 

"  And  how  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Her- 
man. 

"  I  feel  that  I  am  still  a  bad  boy,  but  not  so 
bad  as  Frank  Bray." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Mr.  Herman,  "  that  if  you 
are  so  conscious  of  the  badness  of  Frank  Bray 
that  you  will  still  play  with  him ;  and  did  you 
forget  that  I  have  forbidden  you  to  go  to  the 
Brays'  farm  ?  " 

"  I  forgot  nothing,  my  father ;  but  I  was  bad. 
Now  I  repent,  and  I  shall  go  there  no  more." 

"  Unless  you  disobey  again,"  said  his  father. 

"  I  shall  not  disobey,"  said  the  child  proudly, 
and  his  face  flushed  as  he  looked  up  at  them. 

"  Thou  art  weary,"  said  his  mother,  noticing 
the  sudden  droop  of  the  child's  shoulders ;  "  come 
into  the  house." 

Fritz  followed  his  parents  to  the  sitting  room 
and  sat  down  at  the  table  confronting  them. 
They  looked  at  each  other ;  what  should  they  do 
to  their  disobedient  son  ? 

"  He  must  be  punished,"  said  his  mother  decid- 
edly; for  though  she  loved  her  son  intensely, 
she  was  yet  more  firm  about  matters  of  discipline 
than  was  her  husband. 

"  He  must  be  punished,"  echoed  Mr.  Herman, 
"  yet  not  now ;  we  are  all  hungry  and  dinner  is 
waiting.     Let  us  have  that  first." 


WHBN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


95 


Almost  in  silence  they  took  their  midday 
meal,  then  the  parents  returned  to  the  sitting 
room  with  their  little  son. 

"It  must  be  a  whipping  this  time  and  not 
bed,  is  it  not  so  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Herman  to  her  hus- 
band. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,'*  he  replied. 

"  Must  a  boy  have  two  whippings  in  one  day, 
father?*'  asked  Fritz,  drawing  himself  up 
haughtily. 

"  I  do  not  know ;  it  depends  upon  the  boy," 
said  Mr.  Herman  cautiously. 

"  I  am  already  quite  stiff,"  said  Fritz  calmly, 
"and  my  back  is  sore." 

"  Who  has  dared  to  whip  thee  ? "  cried  Mrs. 
Herman. 

"  Frank  Bray's  father." 

"  His  father  ?  "  replied  Mr.  Herman.  "  Why,  I 
saw  him  but  a  short  time  ago  upon  the  road  and 
he  staggered  so  terribly  that  I  knew  he  had  been 
to  the  saloon  in  the  town." 

"  Yes,  he  was  not  himself,"  said  Fritz  calmly. 
"  He  spoke  crossly  of  you.  He  said  that  you  had 
cheated  him  about  the  calves." 

"I  did  not,"  said  Mr.  Herman  hastily;  "he 
does  not  speak  the  truth." 

"I  told  him  that,"  said  Fritz.  "I  said  my 
father  is  honest  and  you  are  a  liar." 

"  And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Herman  breathlessly. 

"  He  picked  up  a  stick,"  said  the  lad,  "  and  he 
tore  my  coat  from  my  back  and  beat  me  till  Mrs. 
Bray  made  him  stop ;  and  oh,  mother,  I  am  so 
tired,"  and  the  small  boy  finding  that  he  could 


96 


WHBN  HBWAS  A   BOY 


no  longer  keep  up  his  courage,  threw  himself 
down  beside  her  and  sobbed,  **  Don't  whip  me 
again,  but  put  me  to  bed  and  sing  to  me  and  I 
will  say  my  prayers,  for  I  have  been  a  wicked 
boy  and  I  will  never  disobey  you  again." 

"  He  is  sufficiently  punished — he  will  not  visit 
those  unprincipled  people  again,"  said  Mr.  Her- 
man as  he  left  the  room.  *'  I  leave  him  in  your 
hands,  Gretchen." 

On  the  first  of  the  next  June  Fritz  was  to 
have  a  birthday. 

"  You  are  going  to  have  a  number  of  presents 
this  year  as  usual,"  said  his  father  to  him  on  the 
evening  of  the  thirty-first  of  May ;  "  but  among 
them  is  an  extraordinary  one — I  never  heard  of 
a  little  boy  getting  one  like  it.  I  hope  that  you 
will  be  pleased  with  it.  Remember,  if  you  aie 
not,  you  will  make  your  father  and  mother  very 
unhappy." 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  glad  to  get  it,"  said  Fritz  ; 
"  I  am  always  pleased  with  my  presents,"  and  he 
went  to  bed  wondering  what  this  mysterious 
thing  could  be. 

Beside  his  plate  the  next  morning  on  the 
breakfast  table  were  a  number  of  packages, 
round,  square,  and  three-cornered,  and  they  con- 
tained the  usual  things — books,  games,  and  con- 
fectionery. 

Fritz  opened  them  with  delight,  turned  them 
over  and  over  and  thanked  his  parents,  then  said, 
"  Where  is  the  queer  thing  you  were  going  to 
give  me  ?  " 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


97 


"It  IS  not  there,"  said  Aunt  Lotta  who,  in 
common  with  his  parents,  seemed  to  be  full  of 
excitement.  **  Come  to  the  parlor,  come  quietly 
and  see  it." 

Fritz  ran  ahead  of  the  grown  people  and 
threw  open  the  door  of  the  best  room  in  the 
house. 

It  was  rather  dark  in  there,  but  away  in  a 
comer  farthest  from  the  windows  stood  what 
seemed  to  him  to  be  a  huge  wax  doll. 

**  Am  I  a  girl  ? "  he  asked  in  his  first  disap- 
pointment, and  turning  rather  indignantly  to  his 
motier. 

"Go  to  it,  my  child,"  she  said  earnestly. 
"  Do  not  despise  it." 

Fritz  walked  a'little  nearer.  It  was  certainly 
a  very  beautiful  doll.  Its  complexion  was  pearly 
white,  its  curls  were  long  and  flaxen,  and  it  was 
handsomely  dressed  in  some  white  material. 

"  Kiss  it,"  said  his  father. 

The  doll  at  this  smiled,  but  Fritz,  staring  in- 
tently at  it,  was  not  surprised.  He  had  seen 
smiling  and  even  talking  dolls  before  now. 

His  Aunt  Lotta,  as  if  guessing  his  thoughts, 
cri^  out,  "  This  lovely  doll  can  say  your  name. 
Just  hear  it." 

Fritz  saw  the  pretty  lips  part  and  heard  the 
word  "  Friss." 

The  boy  began  to  be  enlightened.  Was  it 
possible  instead  of  being  a  very  big  doll  this 
was  a  very  small  girl. 

He  put  out  his  hands  to  grasp  the  dainty  crea- 
ture, but  at  his  touch  it  eluded  him,  and  to  his 

G 


98 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


amazement  he  saw  a  little  girl  running  across 
the  room  and  being  caught  in  his  mother's  arms. 

"Don't  you  know  her,  Fritz?"  said  Aunt 
I/Otta ;  "  I  thought  you  would  recognize  her  from 
the  photograph.  It  is  your  Cousin  Elsa,  who 
has  come  to  live  with  us." 

Fritz  retraced  his  steps,  and  putting  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  stared  at  the  small  girl  with 
such  a  ludicrous  expression  on  his  face  that  the 
older  people  and  Dinah,  who  stood  in  the  door- 
way, all  burst  out  laughing  at  him. 

The  child  had  lifted  her  head  and  was  peep- 
ing at  him  through  her  curls. 

"Ren  he  dot  near  I  runned  aray  and  hid 
messef,"  she  said  merrily. 

Fritz  was  more  astonished  than  ever.  What 
kind  of  language  was  this  ? 

"You  will  soon  understand  her,"  said  Mr. 
Herman,  with  amusement.  "  I  have  been  puz- 
zling over  her  funny  talk,  and  I  find  that  if  you 
remember  that  she  usually  says  d  for  g ;  s  or  z 
for  t  and  th ;  r  for  w,  with  a  few  muxo  fancy 
changes,  you  will  get  a  clue  to  what  she  says. 
She  is  very  like  you,  Gretchen,"  he  went  on, 
touching  with  gentle  fingers  the  flaxen  curls 
that  were  just  the  shade  of  his  wife's  hair. 
"  Her  eyes  are  blue  and  her  cheeks  are  pink  and 
white  as  yours." 

"She  is  more  like  Gretchen  than  Fritz  is, 
much  more,"  said  Aunt  Lotta. 

"  Fritz  is  his  father's  boy,"  said  Mr.  Herman, 
"  he  is  dark  and  swarthy." 

Mrs.  Herman  lifted  her  face.     "  Why  should 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


99 


not  the  child  resemble  me  ?  She  belongs  to  my 
own  sister,  who  was  as  like  me  as  if  we  were 
twins." 

"  Father,"  said  Fritz,  "  is  this  the  child  from 
the  city  ?  and  what  is  she  doing  here  ?  " 

"Well,  son,"  said  Mr.  Herman,  "you  know 
the  city  is  a  very  bad  place  for  little  girls  in 
summer,  and  Elsa^s  parents,  who  live  in  a 
crowded  street,  have  sent  her  here  to  play  with 
you.  Come  out  in  the  hall  and  I  will  explain 
further,"  and  he  drew  the  boy  with  him  and 
went  on  in  a  lower  tone.  "  Her  father  and 
mother  are  poor  and  cannot  afford  to  live  in  a 
large  house  as  we  do,  and  I  should  like  to  keep 
this  dear  child  for  some  years,  for  I  fear  that  she 
will  grow  pale  and  thin  in  the  city,  but  every- 
thing depends  on  you.  If  you  are  unkind  to 
her  we  shall  send  her  away.  She  is  very  sensi- 
tive and  cannot  bear  a  harsh  word ;  so  you  will 
have  to  be  careful." 

"I  am  never  rough  with  girls,"  said  Fritz, 
drawing  himself  up ;  "  but  I  wish  she  had  been  a 
boy." 

"  So  do  I  for  some  reasons,"  said  Mr.  Herman  ; 
"  but  perhaps  in  a  few  weeks  we  shall  not  say  that. 
She  only  arrived  last  evening  and  already  I  am 
quite  fond  of  her.  Don*t  you  want  to  take  her 
out  to  see  your  dogs  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Fritz  shyly ;  but  he  did  not  ask 
the  little  girl  to  go  with  him,  and  Aunt  Lotta 
said  "  It  is  just  as  well.  Children  are  like  grown 
people— they  do  not  jump  into  an  acquaintance 
with  each  other." 


lOO 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


Fritz  had  always  lived  on  the  farm  at  some 
distance  from  other  children,  and  it  seemed  a 
very  singular  thing  to  him  that  one  should  come 
to  live  in  the  house  with  him. 

All  day  long  he  kept  watching  the  little 
maiden — he  would  not  go  out  of  doors  to  play  at 
all — ^and  Elsa,  for  her  part,  peeped  at  him  from 
behind  her  aunt's  skirts,  shook  her  curls  and 
made  funny  speeches  about  him  that  kept  them 
all  laughing. 

Ivate  in  the  afternoon,  when  Mrs.  Herman  and 
Aunt  Lotta  were  entertaining  a  visitor  in  the 
parlor,  Elsa  went  out  to  the  hall  where  Fritz 
was  loitering  about.  Without  saying  anything 
he  sauntered  out  to  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
house,  and  she  followed  him. 

"It's  a  fine  day,"  he  said,  looking  over  his 
shoulder  and  endeavoring  to  begin  a  conversa- 
tion in  an  easy  way. 

"  Have  you  dot  a  dolly  ?  "  asked  Elsa  earnestly. 

"  No,"  replied  Fritz  gently ;  "  boys  don't  play 
with  dolls." 

"  Do  you  rant  to  see  my  dolly,"  said  Elsa. 

Fritz  hesitated  a  moment  to  find  out  what  she 
meant,  then  he  said,  "Yes,  I  do." 

Elsa  flew  into  the  house  shaking  her  yellow 
curls,  and  soon  returned  with  a  brown-eyed  doll 
in  her  arms. 

"  Isn't  her  dolden  hair  sreet  ?  "  she  said,  as  she 
caressed  the  head  of  her  pet. 

Fritz  took  the  doll  in  his  arms  and  held  it 
awkwardly  for  a  few  minutes,  then  returned  it 
to  its  owner. 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


lOI 


illow 

doll 


"  Would  your  doll  like  to  take  a  walk  about 
the  place  ?  "  he  asked  politely. 

"  Speak,  dolly,  rill  you  ?  "  said  Elsa,  putting 
her  ear  to  the  doll's  mouth. 

"  Res,  she  rill,"  said  the  little  girl  gleefully, 
"  dolly  loves  to  ralk  about." 

The  two  children  strolled  down  to  the  gate, 
and  Fritz  pointed  out  the  beauties  of  the  crystal 
lake,  the  woods,  the  mountain,  and  the  green 
fields  as  he  had  heard  his  father  do  with  strangers. 

Elsa  listened  attentively  without  making  any 
remark,  and  Fritz  thought  that  she  was  not 
much  interested  till  he  turned  to  go  away. 
Then  he  found  that  she  was  surveying  the  moun- 
tain with  rapt  attention.  She  had  never  before 
seen  so  high  a  place,  and  her  little  face  was  a 
study. 

"  Does  Dod  sleep  up  sere  ?  "  she  asked  in  an 
awed  voice. 

"No,"  replied  Fritz,  "God  sleeps  in  heaven." 

"  Oh,  I  sought  he  sleeps  sere,"  returned  Elsa, 
with  a  disappointed  face,  "  cause  I  see  big  blank- 
kets  floatin'  down,"  and  she  pointed  to  the  fleecy 
clouds  gliding  over  the  mountain  tops. 

"We  will  ask  mother  when  we  go  in  the 
house,"  said  Fritz.  "Perhaps  heaven  is  up 
there.     Come,  let  us  go  to  the  stable  yard  now." 

Some  cows  were  just  coming  in  to  be  milked, 
and  to  Fritz'  surprise  he  found  Elsa's  little 
hand  slipped  timidly  in  his,  while  she  stood 
staring  in  open-eyed  amazement  at  the  big- 
homed  animals. 

"  Are  sey  lions  ?  "  she  whispered  fearfully. 


I02 


WHBN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


"  Did  you  never  see  a  cow  ?  "  exclaimed  Fritz. 

"  I  never  saw  sose  sings  before,"  said  Elsa 
convincingly. 

"Why,  you  must  have,"  said  Fritz,  for  he 
could  not  imagine  a  properly  constituted  house- 
hold to  which  a  cow  was  not  attached.  "  Where 
did  you  get  your  milk  ?  " 

"  Ze  milkman  brought  it  in  little  cans ;  sere 
rere  nosings  like  sose  in  my  home." 

"  How  did  the  milk  get  into  the  cans  ?  "  asked 
Fritz. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  dess  ze  milkman  made  it." 

This  dense  ignorance  Fritz  did  not  attempt  to 
enlighten.  He  was  not  yet  well  enough  ac- 
quainted with  Eisa  to  reason  much  with  her,  so 
he  stood  silently  by  her  while  she  watched  with 
intense  excitement  the  process  of  milking. 

One  of  the  stablemen  put  some  straw  on  the 
top  of  a  box  for  her  to  sit  on,  and  while  she  re- 
mained there,  her  big  blue  eyes  taking  in  every 
detail  of  the  scene  which,  so  familiar  to  Fritz, 
was  like  a  fairy  scene  to  her,  Mr.  Herman  and 
the  dogs  came  home. 

With  the  latter  she  was  delighted.  "  I  love 
ze  dogs,"  she  exclaimed,  as  they  came  romping 
up  to  her  box ;  "  dood  dogs,  come  up  and  see  me," 
and  putting  her  doll  behind  her,  she  fearlessly 
held  out  her  hands  to  the  big,  strong  creatures 
who  were  leaping  upon  their  young  master. 

First  came  a  greyhound  called  Reno;  then 
Fifer,  a  box-headed  Newfoundland  ;  Jock,  a 
cocker  spaniel ;  and  a  dear  little  terrier. 

Mr.  Herman  pointed  to  this  last.      "  Here  is 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


103 


Fritz, 
i  Elsa 

for  he 
house- 
Where 


J ;  sere 


*  asked 

ide  it." 
mpt  to 
gh  ac- 
her,  so 
d  with 

Dti  the 
she  re- 
L  every 
Fritz, 
in  and 

I  love 
mping 
erne 


n 


rlessly 
atures 
r. 

then 
ck)    a 

lere  is 


a  gentle  little  dog  that  you  may  have  for  youi 
own,  Elsa.  I  only  bought  him  yesterday ;  now 
what  will  you  name  him  ?  " 

The  dog  sat  looking  up  at  Elsa  as  if  he  knew 
what  they  were  saying. 

"  Dive  him  to  me,  please,"  she  exclaimed,  and 
Mr.  Herman  lifted  him  to  the  top  of  the  box. 

She  threw  her  arms  around  the  dog^s  neck, 
then  said,  "  Doggie,  I  love  you,  and  I  rill  call 
you  Lammie." 

"  That  is  a  funny  name  for  a  dog,"  said  Fritz. 

"  Zen  I  will  call  him  Pussy." 

"  Why,  he  isn't  a  cat,"  said  Fritz. 

"  Zen  I  rill  call  him  Puppy." 

"That  is  better,  because  that  is  what  he  is, 
but  I  don't  think  it  is  a  very  pretty — — " 

His  father  looked  at  him  and  he  stopped,  for 
he  did  not  want  to  be  impolite  to  his  cousin. 

"What  a  pretty  sight,"  said  Mrs.  Herman, 
who  had  come  out  to  the  stable  yard  to  call  her 
husband  and  the  children  to  tea. 

Elsa  sat  perched  on  the  box  hugging  her  new 
pet,  who  seemed  delighted  with  his  mistress. 
Fritz  stood  protectingly  beside  her  with  his  dogs 
about  him,  while  Mr.  Herman  was  bending  over 
a  sick  sheep  that  he  had  brought  out  into  the 
yard  to  examine.  The  cows  stood  leisurely 
chewing  their  cud  and  looking  about  them, 
while  the  horses  gazed  happily  out  through  the 
doorway  of  the  stable  at  the  master  who  was  so 
kind  to  them.  Even  piggy  at  a  little  distance 
was  grunting  contentedly,  and  Mrs.  Herman 
murmured  to  herself  the  words : 


I04 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things  both  great  and  smalL 


"  My  mother,"  said  Fritz  one  hot  afternoon 
when  the  summer  was  half  over,  *' there  is  a 
thing  I  long  to  do." 

"  Will  you  name  it  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  I  wish  to  play  Lohengrin." 

"  Very  good,  my  son  ;  I  have  no  objections  to 
you  doing  so." 

**  And  may  I  have  all  the  gowns  and  the  fix- 
ings that  I  wish  ?  " 

"  Yes,  child,  if  you  will  spare  my  very  best 


ones. 


»> 


"  I  will  do  so ;  and  now  where  are  Elsa  and  the 
dogs  ?  "  and  he  ran  away. 

"  Play  in  a  cool  place,  my  child,"  Mrs.  Her- 
man called  after  him ;  "  do  not  go  in  the  sun — it 
is  too  hot." 

"  I  will  come  just  where  you  are,  mother," 
said  Fritz. 

Mrs.  Herman  and  her  sister  were  out  on  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  house  busy  with  some  sew- 
ing spread  on  a  table  before  them. 

Mr.  Herman  lay  stretched  out  on  the  grass  at 
their  feet.  He  had  just  had  his  dinner  and  was 
resting  for  a  short  time  before  going  jack  to  his 
work. 

"  What  an  agreeable  thing  it  is  that  the  two 
children  have  never  quarreled,"  he  said ;  "  they 
play  so  amiably.  I  was  afraid  that  before  this 
time  Fritz  would  have  wounded  Elsa's  tender 
feelings." 


WHBN   HBWAS  A  BOY 


105 


**  He  has  not,"  said  Mrs.  Herman ;  *^  he  is  a 
gallant  little  lad  is  our  Fritz ;  not  once  has  he 
made  Elsa  cry." 

**  And  she  too  has  failings,"  said  Aunt  I/>tta ; 
"  Elsa  is  not  perfection." 

"  Indeed,  no,"  said  Mr.  Herman ;  "  but  it  is  an 
excellent  thing  for  Fritz  to  have  her  here,  for  he 
undoubtedly  is  learning  self-restraint  and  gentle- 
ness— ^two  qualities  that  he  needed  sorely.  Ah, 
here  they  come." 

"Do  not  laugh,"  said  Mrs.  Herman  wam- 
ingly. 

Mr.  Herman  put  one  hand  up  to  his  face  and 
leaned  his  head  on  the  other. 

Fritz  appeared  first  leading  the  solemn-faced 
greyhound  who  was  attired  in  an  old  red  dress- 
ing gown  of  Mr.  Herman's  which  caught  in  his 
feet  and  made  him  stumble  as  he  walked. 

"  Now,  old  fellow,"  said  Fritz  addressing  him, 
"this  is  the  meadow  of  Antwerp  and  you  are 
King  Henry — sit  up  here  on  your  throne,"  and 
he  assisted  Reno  to  a  chair  placed  against  a  tree, 
"  and  don't  move  till  I  tell  you." 

The  greyhound  propped  himself  against  the 
back  of  the  chair  and  Fritz  carefully  placed  a 
gilt  crown  on  his  brows. 

"Now,  where  is  Telramund?"  said  Fritz. 
"  Fifer,  Fifer,  Fifer,"  and  he  called  the  New- 
foundland dog;  "you  will  make  a  good  bad 
knight,"  and  seizing  a  bright  blue  sash  from  a 
heap  of  clothing  that  he  had  flung  on  the  grass 
he  tied  it  around  the  dog's  waist  and  stuck  a 
piece  of  wood  in  it  for  a  dagger. 


io6 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


Pifer  ran  about  barking  and  occasionally  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder  at  the  huge  bow  of  silk  on 
his  back. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Fritz,  "make  all  the 
noise  you  can.  Telramund  was  bad  and  boister- 
ous. Now  who  will  be  the  herald  ?  I  will  be, 
because  there  is  no  other  person,"  and  he  called 
loudly,  "  Elsa,  Princess  of  Brabant,  Telramund 
says  that  you  killed  your  brother.  Where  are 
you,  naughty  one  ?  "  continued  the  boy  looking 
all  about  him.  "Elsa  will  appear  now  and 
everybody  will  say,  *  Sie  kommt'  Speak,  dogs." 
The  hound,  the  Newfoundland  dog,  and  Puppy 
and  Jock  who  were  in  the  background,  all  barked 
loudly,  and  at  that  moment  little  Elsa  appeared 
trailing  over  the  grass  a  long  white  towel  which 
Fritz  had  pinned  as  a  train  to  the  back  of  her 
frock. 

She  had  played  I^ohengrin  before  and  knew 
just  what  to  do,  so  without  a  word  from  Fritz 
she  prostrated  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  grey- 
hound. 

"  I'm  a  dood  dirl,  Mr.  King — ^zat  old  dog,  no, 
zat  old  knight  is  ze  rurst  sing  I  ever  saw.  A 
dood  man  rill  fight  for  me." 

"  Isn't  she  a  picture  ?  "  murmured  Aunt  Lotta. 
"  I  wish  hex  mother  could  see  that  bowed  golden 
head  and  those  hands  so  meekly  clasped." 

"  And  that  expanse  of  bath  towel,"  said  Mr. 
Herman,  who  was  laughing  quietly.  "The 
dear  children — ^how  amusing  they  are ;  but  hark, 
what  is  the  herald  saying?"  For  Fritz  had 
again  sprung  to  his  feet  on  the  grass  and  was 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


107 


loudly  vociferating  through  a  tin  trumpet  held  at 
his  mouth,  "  I  call  for  a  knight  to  prove  the  in- 
nocence of  Elsa,  Princess  of  Brabant." 

For  some  time  no  knight  came  and  little  Elsa 
stepping  aside  pretended  to  cry  bitterly. 

"  Why  does  not  Fritz  disappear  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Herman.     "  He  is  the  knight  himself." 

"He  is  keeping  one  eye  on  Elsa  to  see  that 
she  gets  to  the  proper  pitch  of  emotion,"  said 
Mrs.  Herman.     "  Ah,  there  he  goes." 

Fritz  threw  down  his  trumpet  and  ran  around 
the  comer  of  the  house.  After  a  long  time  they 
heard  him  coming  back.  Unable  to  fully  repre- 
sent the  beautiful  knight  in  his  coat  of  mail 
standing  in  a  boat  drawn  by  a  milk  white  swan 
he  had  got  a  duck  from  the  barnyard  and  had 
fastened  it  to  a  small  clothes  basket.  The  duck, 
a  pet  one,  waddled  nimbly  toward  Elsa,  while 
Fritz,  unable  to  get  into  the  basket,  walked  beside 
it,  carrying  a  tray  for  a  shield  and  a  cane  for  a 
sword. 

Elsa  manifested  great  excitement  at  his  ap- 
pearance and  throwing  her  white  towel  over  her 
arm  flew  between  him  and  the  duck  alternately 
embracing  them. 

The  duck  quacked  with  pleasure  and  Lo- 
hengrin kissed  her  hand. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  fight  the  bad  Telra- 
mund,"  said  Fritz.  "  Stand  forth,  O  knight," 
and  he  shook  his  cane  at  Fifer. 

The  dog  seemed  to  understand  the  play  and 
jumped  playfully  from  side  to  side  while  Fritz 
thrust  at  him  with  his  cane. 


io8 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


Fritz  was  intensely  interested ;  of  all  the 
German  stories  that  his  mother  was  in  the  habit 
of  relating  to  him  Lohengrin  was  his  favorite 
and  the  one  he  played  most  often  ;  but  little  Elsa 
being  younger  did  not  take  so  much  interest  in 
it,  and  on  this  day  she  was  hot  and  tired,  so  to 
his  dismay  the  boy  suddenly  heard  from  her  the 
exclamation,  "  I  don't  rant  to  play  any  more." 

"  Hush,  princess,"  he  said  barely  turning  his 
head.  *^  The  bad  Telramund  will  kill  me  if  I 
stop  fighting  him." 

^*I  don't  rant  to  play  any  more,"  said  Elsa 
more  decidedly ;  "  unfasten  sis  nassy  old  sing," 
and  she  pulled  at  the  towel  on  her  dress. 

Fritz  turned  around  at  this  and  forgot  for  a 
time  the  fierce  Telramund  who  was  leaping  at 
him.  "  Won't  you  play  a  little  longer  ?  "  he  said 
pleadingly.     "  Just  a  little  while  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Elsa  willfully,  "  I'd  raser  play  rith 
my  dolly." 

At  her  words  the  noble  Lohengrin  did  a 
shocking  thing.  Instead  of  taking  the  safety 
pins  from  his  dear  princess'  train  he  walked  up 
to  her  and  deliberately  slapped  her. 

Elsa  for  a  moment  was  too  astonished  to  cry. 
She  stared  at  him  as  if  she  thought  he  had  taken 
leave  of  his  senses.  He  had  been  so  gentle  with 
her  up  to  this  time.  He  had  never  pinched  her 
nor  pushed  her  nor  teased  her  in  any  way  and 
now  he  had  given  her  a  good  smart  slap  on  her 
little  fat  neck. 

She  gave  a  stifled  shriek  of  dismay  and  ran  to 
throw  herself  in  Mrs.  Herman's  arms. 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


109 


)) 


Fritz  flushed  painfully — ^he  had  struck  a  girl 
— and  that  girl  was  dear  little  Elsa,  his  own 
cousin,  who  played  so  lovingly  with  him  when 
she  was  not  tired.    Would  she  ever  forgive  him  ? 

Quite  the  opposite  of  most  other  times  when 
he  did  wrong,  his  repentance  was  immediate. 
He  threw  down  his  shield  and  spear  and  walked 
toward  the  stable. 

After  a  time  his  father  followed  him  and 
found  him  sitting  on  a  bundle  of  hay  and  look- 
ing tdoughtfully  into  a  dark  comer. 

"  Poor  Lohengrin,"  said  Mr.  Herman  gently, 
as  he  placed  his  hand  caressingly  upon  him. 

Fritz  looked  at  him  in  an  ashamed  way. 
" Did  I  hurt  her  much,  father?  " 

"  No,  my  son,  you  frightened  her  more  than 
you  hurt  her." 

"  I  forgot  that  I  was  Lohengrin,"  said  Fritz 
humbly. 

"  Yes,"  returned  his  father.  "  It  would  not  do 
for  the  knights  who  go  about  the  world  assisting 
innocent  mortals  in  distress  to  lose  their  tempers 
every  time  they  are  provoked  and  strike  some 
one.     What  else  did  you  forget,  Fritz  ?  " 

"  I  don*t  know,  father." 

"  Can  you  remember  what  your  text  was  yes- 
terday morning  ?  " 

"  Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit 
the  earth." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  can  be  meek  and  also 
bold?" 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 


no 


WHEN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


"  T  cannot  explain  it,  but  the  Lord  Jesus  was 
both,  was  he  not  ?  " 

''  He  was.  That  is  the  best  example  you  could 
give.  If  you  can  be  like  him  you  will  be  a 
better  man  even  than  Lohengrin." 

<' Shall  I  go  and  tell  Elsa  that  I  am  sorry?" 
asked  Fritz,  getting  up  and  walking  toward  the 
open  door. 

"  Yes ;  my  son,  she  is  very  much  disturbed  over 
your  behavior.     An  apology  will  console  her." 

"My  father,"  said  Fritz  suddenly  stopping 
short,  "  little  girls  often  anger  boys ;  suppose  I 
should  slap  her  again  ?  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  do  it  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  but  you  know  my  quick  temper." 

"  Look  at  that  then,"  said  Mr.  Herman,  sup- 
pressing a  smile  and  pointing  to  a  little  clump 
of  oats  growing  outside  the  stable  yard. 

Fritz's  pet  hen  Jenny  was  jumping  up  and 
down  in  a  fashion  most  unusual  for  hens,  and  her 
young  master  stared  at  her  for  a  few  seconds 
without  understanding  what  she  was  doing. 
Then  he  exclaimed,  "  She  is  springing  up  to  get 
the  oats." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Herman,  "she  is  picking 
them  one  by  one,  and  going  through  a  course  of 
gymnastics  to  attain  her  object.  She  will  not 
give  up  until  she  gets  them  all.  Can  you  not 
l^arn  a  lesson  from  her  ?  " 

"  Never  to  give  up,  my  father?  " 

"Yes,  Fritz." 

The  little  boy  walked  slowly  tt  ward  the  house. 
Elsa  was  sitting  on  the  grass  close  beside  his 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


III 


mother  holding  her  dolly.  When  she  heard  him 
coming  she  lifted  her  head  and  Fritz  blushed 
when  he  saw  her  red  eyelids  and  tear-stained 
face  and  noticed  that  she  shrank  timidly  from 
him. 

"  I  shall  try  never  to  slap  you  again,  Elsa," 
he  said ;  ^'  I  am  always  impatient  when  I  play 
Lohengrin.  Will  you  forgive  me  ?  I  am  really 
very,  very  sorry." 

Elsa  looked  at  him  without  understanding 
that  she  was  to  say  "  yes." 

'*  Elsa,"  said  Mrs.  Herman,  "  Fritz  will  play 
with  you  now  kindly  and  not  roughly.  Will  you 
kiss  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child  with  the  ghost  of  a 
former  sob  and  throwing  down  her  doll  as  she 
offered  her  cheek  to  her  cousin.  "I  rill  play 
Lo'giin." 

Fritz  looked  eagerly  at  his  mother,  but  she 
shook  her  head.  *•  Not  to-day,  some  other  time. 
It  is  hot  and  that  is  a  long  play  for  a  little  girl." 

"  Rell,"  said  Elsa,  "  rut  shall  re  play  ?  " 

"Sit  down  in  the  grass,  both  of  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Herman,  "  and  I  will  tell  you  a  story  about 
the  Lord  Jesus  when  he  was  a  little  boy." 

Long  before  the  story  was  over  Elsa  had 
dropped  asleep. 

-'  lyook  at  her  mother,"  said  Fritz,  "  is  she  not 
like  a  doll  ?  " 

"Dolls  da  not  sigh  in  their  sleep,"  said  Mrs. 
Herman. 

Fritz  dropped  his  eyes.  "Ah,  little  mother, 
she  perhaps  dreams  of  my  unkindness — but  con- 


112 


WHEN  HE  WAS  A  BOY 


tinue  the  story.  When  I  hear  of  noble  deeds  I 
too  long  to  be  noble.  I  should  like  to  go  to  Jeru- 
salem and  talk  to  the  doctors  in  the  temple. 
How  can  I  be  a  perfect  boy  ?  '* 

"  Thou  canst  not  be  perfect,"  said  the  mother 
softly  in  German,  "  but  thou  canst  be  one  of  the 
best  of  boys  and  be  master  of  thy  temper  as  thou 
well  knowest  if  thou  wilt  do — what  is  it,  Fritz  ? 
thou  knowest." 

"I  must  love  God  and  keep  his  command- 
ments," said  the  child ;  "  but,  little  mother,  it  is 
so  hard." 

"  All  that  is  worth  having  in  this  world  is  dif- 
ficult to  attain,"  said  Mrs.  Herman.  "  Remem- 
ber that,  my  child,  in  thy  journey  through  life." 

Fritz  sat  thoughtfully  leaning  his  head  against 
his  mother's  shoulder  for  a  long  time,  then  look- 
ing at  him  she  saw  that  he  too  had  fallen  asleep. 

"May  God  bless  and  keep  my  high-spirited 
darling,"  she  murmured,  lightly  brushing  the 
thick  hair  from  his  forehead,  "  and  make  him  a 
true  and  humble  knight  in  the  service  of  Jesus 
Christ." 


These  events  happened  some  years  ago  when 
Fritz  was  a  boy.  Now  he  is  a  tall  and  sturdy 
lad  and  it  is  hardly  saying  too  much  to  state  that 
he  is  all  that  his  parents  could  wish  him  to  be. 
He  is  manly  and  loving  and  a  true  Christian  lad, 
willing  to  fight  the  battles  of  life  prayerfully  and 
soberly  and  to  say  with  humility  when  he  has 
done  wrong,  "I  repent,  I/)rd  Jesus;  give  me 
strength  to  keep  from  falling  another  time." 


WHBN  HB  WAS  A  BOY 


113 


Little  Elsa,  now  tall  Elsa,  still  lives  with  the 
Hermans,  for  her  parents  both  died  and  she  has 
become  Fritz*  adopted  sister  and  a  joy  to  the 
whole  household. 

A  happy  Christian  family  let  us  leave  them. 
May  all  boys  be  as  happy  as  Fritz  and  all  girls 
contented  like  Elsa. 


IV 
THE  LITTLE  PAGE 


-N   all  the  city  of  Ottawa  there  was  not  a 
happier  boy  than  Stephen  Harland. 

He  was  one  of  the  little  pages  in  the 
House  of  Commons  and  every  morning  he 
hurried  from  his  home  up  to  the  handsome 
stone  parliament  buildings  on  the  hill  where  he 
waited  on  the  gentlemen  who  assembled  there. 

Stephen  thought  that  it  was  very  kind  in 
these  gentlemen  to  leave  their  homes  and  come 
from  all  parts  of  Canada  to  make  laws  for  their 
fellow-countrymen. 

"  Politics,"  he  said  one  day  when  he  was  talk- 
ing to  a  group  of  pages  assembled  around  the 
news-stand  out  on  the  street,  "  that's  when  you 
look  after  the  men  that  can't  take  care  of  them- 
selves. Business  is  when  you're  selfish  and  look 
out  for  number  one." 

The  other  pages  raised  a  shout  of  laughter. 
They  had  been  pages  longer  than  Stephen  had, 
and  they  did  not  have  a  very  good  opinion  of 
some  of  the  politicians.  Stephen  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  their  laughter.  He  liked  all  the  gentle- 
men whom  he  served  and  found  no  fault  in 
them. 
114 


H 

a- 
n 

« 
o 


» 
B 


O 

B 


not  a 

in  the 
ing  he 
idsome 
liere  he 
[  there. 
:ind  in 
d  come 
)r  their 

IS  talk- 
nd  the 
sn  you 
them- 
id  look 

lighter, 
n  had, 
nion  of 
atten- 
gentle- 
ult  in 


THB  UTTLB  PAGE 


"5 


"  You're  a  green  one,"  they  called  after  him ; 
but  he  only  smiled  and  ran  home  to  his  grand- 
mother, for  he  never  loitered  about  the  street  as 
the  other  boys  did. 

He  had  a  dear  old  grandmother  who  had 
brought  him  up  ever  since  he  had  been  a  baby 
and  she  seemed  like  a  mother  to  him. 

Every  evening  she  sat  knitting  by  the  window 
while  she  watched  for  him  to  come  home,  and 
when  she  saw  his  dark  head  passing  underneath 
she  said  softly,  "  Praise  God." 

Sometimes  the  little  page  was  kept  very  late 
when  there  was  a  long  session  of  the  House,  but 
the  grandmother  never  went  to  bed  till  he  ar- 
rived. 

Whenever  he  entered  the  room  his  first  ex- 
clamation was,  "  How  are  you,  grandmother  ?  " 
.  "  Well  and  hearty,  Stephen,"  her  reply  always 
was ;  "  and  how  are  you." 

"  Same  as  yourself,  grandmother,"  he  would 
say ;  then  the  old  lady  never  failed  to  ask,  "  How 
is  Sir  James  ?  " 

*^ Sound  as  a  nut,  grandmother;  he's  good 
for  twenty  years  yet.  Ah,  what  a  good  man  he 
is ! "  And  then  the  little  page  would  sink  on  a 
stool  by  the  fire  and  while  his  grandmother  was 
getting  his  tea  ready  for  him  he  would  dreamily 
look  at  the  coals  and  think  over  the  different 
things  he  had  heard  his  beloved  Sir  James  say 
that  day. 

Sir  James  was  the  leader  of  the  government 
and  it  was  he  who  had  gotten  Stephen  his  posi- 
tion as  page.     There  had  been  some  other  boys 


ii6 


THE  UTTLB  PAGB 


applying  for  the  vacancy  and  one  of  them  had 
scornfully  told  Stephen  that  he  would  never  be 
accepted  because  he  was  a  stranger  in  Ottawa. 
Stephen  only  smiled  at  him.  The  other  boy 
did  not  know  that  his  grandfather  had  been  a 
gardener  to  Sir  James'  father  and  that  Sir  James 
had  promised  to  give  Stephen  a  pageship. 

Sir  James  was  a  tall  man  with  gray  wavy  hair, 
a  large  nose,  a  large  mouth,  and  smiling  eyes. 

He  was  always  cheerful.  Stephen  had  never 
seen  him  get  angry.  Sometimes  he  was  very  seri- 
ous, sometimes  very  rebuking  when  he  talked 
to  the  gentlemen  who  were  on  the  other  side  of 
politics  and  who  sat  opposite  him  in  the  House, 
but  Stephen  had  never  seen  him  lose  his  temper. 

When  the  pages  were  not  running  errands 
about  the  chamber  in  which  the  House  of  Com- 
mons met,  they  sat  in  a  row  at  the  foot  of  the 
Speaker,  a  tall  gentleman  in  a  gown  and  gloves 
who  occupied  the  throne  seat. 

One  day  Stephen  sat  there  his  eyes  fixed  in- 
dignantly on  a  member  of  the  opposition  who 
was  standing  up  shaking  his  forefinger  in  the 
air  and  uttering  very  harsh  sentences  as  he  gazed 
toward  the  place  where  Sir  James  sat. 

This  gentleman  was  accusing  Sir  James  of 
running  the  country  in  debt. 

Stephen's  blood  boiled  as  he  listened  to  him. 
It  was  well  that  no  member  signaled  to  him  to 
get  a  glass  of  water  or  to  bring  or  take  away 
papers,  for  he  would  not  have  seen  him.  No 
one  did  for  every  one  was  staring  hard  at  the  e^£- 


THB  UTTLB  PAOB 


X17 


'■if 


cited  man  in  the  opposition  benches  as  he  shook 
his  finger  at  Sir  James,  who  merely  glanced  past 
him  up  at  the  galleries. 

Stephen  looked  admiringly  at  his  patron, 
whose  eyes  coming  slowly  down  from  the  gal- 
leries met  his. 

Sir  James  nodded  and  in  an  instant  Stephen 
was  at  his  side. 

**  My  boy,"  said  the  great  man  laying  his  hand 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  pale  and  trembling  child 
who  stooped  to  receive  his  order,  "run  out  in 
the  fresh  air  for  a  few  minutes,  but  first " — ^and 
he  took  a  pink  rose  from  his  buttonhole — "  carry 
this  up  to  Lady  Delorme  in  the  Speaker's  gal- 
lery.    Do  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Sir  James,"  replied  Stephen  and  hurried 
away. 

The  member  of  the  opposition  was  still  roaring 
sentences  in  a  tremendous  voice  at  Sir  James, 
but  the  other  members  were  not  listening  to 
him  as  attentively  as  before.  They  were  watch- 
ing the  little  page. 

Two  minutes  later  they  saw  him  going  through 
the  galleries  with  the  rose  in  his  hand.  When 
he  presented  it  to  Lady  Delorme  she  looked 
down  at  her  husband  and  with  a  smile  bowed 
and  fastened  it  on  her  breast. 

The  member  of  the  opposition  had  been  watch- 
ing the  flower  instead  of  attending  to  what  he 
was  saying,  and  he  soon  began  to  get  confused 
and  finally  sat  down  muttering,  "  Of  what  use 
are  thunder  and  lightning  against  such  a  man  ?  " 

Everybody  was  laughing  at  him. 


ii8 


THE  UTTI,E  PAGE 


"  It  serves  him  right  for  saying  bad  things," 
said  Stephen  to  himself  as  he  re-entered  the 
chamber.  "Sir  James  loves  his  country  and 
would  do  nothing  to  injure  it.  Ah,  he  is  going 
to  speak,"  and  he  sat  down  on  the  steps. 

Sir  James  rose  slowly.  When  every  eye  in 
the  chamber  was  fastened  on  him,  he  began  to 
talk  about  Canada — ^the  child  among  nations — 
and  the  duty  of  her  sons  toward  her. 

Stephen's  face  flushed  as  he  listened  to  him. 
Oh,  what  grand  words!  He  must  remember 
every  one  of  them  to  tell  to  grandmother. 

"  I  am  proud  that  I  am  a  Canadian  boy,"  he 
murmured  to  himself ;  "  when  I  grow  up  I  will 
be  a  politician  and  will  work  for  Sir  James  and 
my  country." 

Sir  James  spoke  for  a  long  time  and  when  at 
last  he  sat  down,  there  was  a  great  roar  of  ap- 
plause— ^hands  were  clapped  and  feet  stamped ;  he 
had  shown  that  he  had  given  up  ease  and  wealth 
for  his  country ;  he  was  not  robbing  her,  and  the 
member  of  the  opposition,  as  he  listened  to  him, 
hung  his  head. 

Stephen  was  sleeping  soundly  one  night  when 
he  heard  some  one  call  him. 

"  Grandmother,  is  that  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  Stephen,"  she  said  in  a  firm  voice; 
"  will  you  come  here  ?  " 

He  ran  hastily  from  his  room  to  hers.  "  Don't 
you  feel  well,  dear  grandmother?" 

"No,  Stephen,"  she  replied.  He  hurriedly 
lighted  a  candle. 


THE  UTTliE  PAGE 


119 


ft 


" 


Oh,  how  pale  you  are  1 "  he  cried.  "  Shall 
I  go  for  a  doctor  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  thank  you.  Give 
me  that  bottle  of  medicine  and  go  put  on  some 
clothes.     I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

In  a  very  few  minutes  Stephen  came  running 
back.     "  Shall  I  light  a  fire,  grandmother  ?  " 

"  No,  my  dear  child ;  sit  down  here,"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "  Now  will  you 
be  brave  and  listen  to  what  I  am  going  to  say  ?  " 

"Yes,  grandmother,"  he  answered  wonder- 
ingly. 

"  I  have  often  talked  lo  you  of  heaven,"  she 
said  calmly,  "  that  happy  place  where  we  shall 
go  if — ^if  what,  Stephen  ?  " 

"  If  we  love  God,"  said  Stephen  reverently. 

"  That  is  right ;  and  do  you  remember  that  I 
have  always  said  that  probably  I  would  go  first, 
for  I  am  old  and  you  are  young  ?  " 

"I  do,  grandmother,"  he  said,  his  lip  trem- 
bling ;  "  but  you  are  not  going  yet" 

"  Yes,  Stephen,  my  hour  has  come." 

The  little  page  sat  staring  at  her,  his  face  as 
pale  as  death. 

"  Would  you  wish  to  keep  me  back  from  that 
beautiful  place  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  grandmother." 

"  I  will  be  waiting  for  you — ^never  forget  that, 
Stephen — ^and  when  you  come  we  will  wander 
together  through  green  fields  and  by  the  still 
waters  and  we  shall  see  our  Saviour  face  to  face. 
O  Lord,  how  long?"  and  the  old  woman  fell 
back  on  her  pillows  and  clasped  her  hands. 


il 


I30 


THB  IXtriX  PAOB 


Stephen  had  a  wild  desire  to  throw  himself 
down  by  her  side  and  burst  into  tears,  but  he 
overcame  it 

"  You  will  not  be  alone  in  the  world,"  said 
his  grandmother  gently;  "we  have  not  made 
many  friends  here  yet,  but  I  have  asked  Mrs. 
Jones  to  let  you  live  with  her.  Sir  James  has 
promised  to  get  you  a  situation  when  you  are 
older,  where  you  will  earn  enough  money  to 
support  yourself." 

"Very  well,  grandmother,"  said  the  little 
page,  choking  back  a  lump  in  his  throat. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  that  I  have  written  to  Sii 
James,"  said  his  grandmother,  drawing  an  en- 
velope from  under  her  pillow ;  "  when  the  time 
comes  that  you  are  too  old  to  be  a  page  take 
this  to  him.  He  will  remember;  and  now, 
Stephen,  you  must  call  Mrs.  Jones." 

"  Grandmother,  are  you  going  to  die  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy." 

"But  you  speak  quietly,  you  are  only  pale. 
Grandmother,  are  you  not  mistaken  ?  " 

"No,  Stephen." 

"  Grandmother,"  he  said,  "  grandmother,"  and 
he  stood  up  very  straight  beside  the  bed  and 
clenched  his  hands  to  keep  from  crying,  "  what 
am  I  going  to  do  without  you  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,  my  dear  lamb,"  she  said 
softly,  "  unless  you  choose  this  time  to  give  your 
heart  to  the  Lord." 

"  Grandmother,  I  cannot  do  that.  I  love  God, 
but  I  do  not  love  him  so  much  as  I  do  you." 

"  Earthly  friends  fail  us ;  I  warned  you  of  this, 


TH8  UTTIA  PAOB 


121 


Stephen ;  now  is  the  time  the  Lord  Jesus  would 
put  his  arms  around  you,  Stephen,  if  you  would 
let  him." 

"  I  have  Sir  James  left,"  Stephen  said. 

"  Suppose  he  should  die." 

"  Then  I  would  die  too,"  and  the  little  page 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  by  the  bed. 

"  Poor  lamb,  poor  lamb,"  and  the  old  woman 
fondled  his  head,  "  if  I  could  only  take  you  with 
me ;  but  you  will  come.  The  Lord  is  preparing  a 
path.    You  will  read  in  your  Bible  every  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  grandmother,"  he  sobbed. 

"  And  say  your  prayers  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,"  and  he  flung  his  arms  around 
her  neck.  "Grandmother,  don*t  send  for  Mrs. 
Jones.     Let  me  have  you  to  myself  till  the  last." 

"  Will  you  not  be  airaid?  " 

"Afraid  of  you?"  and  the  little  page  drew 
back  to  look  in  her  face.  "  Death  is  only  like 
going  to  sleep,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered ;  "  for  me  it  will  be,  in 
God's  great  goodness.  He  knows  that  I  have 
had  a  troubled  life.    I  shall  sink  quietly  to  rest." 

In  a  few  minutes  she  breathed  in  his  ear, 
"  Good-bye,  do  not  forget ;  I  shall  wait  for  you." 

"  Oh,  grandmother,  come  back  I  come  back ! " 
he  cried,  "  I  cannot  let  you  go  I  " 

His  grandmother  had  gone,  and  when  he 
found  that  she  did  not  smile  when  he  eagerly 
kissed  her  and  that  her  cheeks  were  growing 
cold  as  he  smoothed  them  with  his  hands,  he 
dropped  his  head  on  his  breast  and  went  for 
Mrs.  Jones. 


122 


THS  UTtlA  PAGB 


Mrs.  Jones  did  not  quite  know  what  to  make 
of  Stephen. 

"  He's  the  quietest  boy  I  ever  saw,"  she  said 
one  day  when  she  was  talking  him  over  with  a 
neighbor ;  **  just  like  a  mouse  about  the  house. 
I'm  afraid  he's  grieving  for  his  grandmother." 

Stephen  was  grieving  for  his  grandmother. 
Every  hour  in  the  day  he  thought  of  her,  and  if 
it  had  not  been  for  Sir  James,  he  fancied  that 
his  grief  would  have  killed  him. 

When  he  was  up  in  the  House,  trotting  about 
or  sitting  gazing  at  the  fine  face  of  the  man  who 
had  been  an  idol  to  him,  he  felt  comforted. 

Sir  James  had  no  idea  that  his  favorite  page 
adored  him  to  the  extent  that  he  did,  until  one 
day  when  some  mention  was  made  of  proroguing 
the  House. 

The  little  page  turned  his  eyes  on  him  with  a 
kind  of  terror  and  his  face  became  desperately 
pale.  Almost  without  knowing  what  he  was 
doing  he  found  himself  beside  Sir  James. 

"  What  is  it,  my  lad  ?  "  asked  the  premier,  as 
courteously  as  if  Stephen  were  a  grand  gentle- 
man like  himself. 

"  Grandmother  is  dead,'*  murmured  the  little 
page,  "  and  I  have  no  one  but  you.  Sir  James. 

If  you  leave  Ottawa  I — I "  then  he  stopped 

and  something  clicked  in  his  throat. 

"  You  are  Harland's  grandson,"  said  Sir  James 
thoughtfully ;  "  would  you  like  to  go  with  me 
down  the  St.  Lawrence  to  spend  the  summer  ?  " 

The  little  page  could  not  speak,  but  his  eyes 
gave  an  answer. 


THB  UTTI^B  PAGE 


"3 


Sir  James  smiled-at  him,  then  he  went  on,  for 
he  loved  children,  **  Is  there  anything  else  I  can 
do  for  you,  my  boy  ?  " 

The  little  page  flushed  crimson,  "  Please,  sir,  I 
have  everything  that  I  can  wish  for  now." 

Sir  James  gazed  thoughtfully  after  him  as  he 
hurried  away." 

"  Queer  boy — very  intense,"  he  said  gravely. 

Stephen  felt  as  if  he  were  walking  on  air. 
"  Oh,  if  dear  grandmother  in  heaven  only  knew !  " 
he  said  eagerly  to  himself.  *^  I  will  black  his 
boots,  I  will  wait  on  him,  I  will  sleep  with  one 
ear  open  so  that  I  can  hear  him  if  he  calls  me." 

One,  two,  three  days  went  by,  and  the  little 
page  was  still  in  a  state  of  bliss.  The  month  of 
June  had  come  and  the  weather  was  delightfully 
warm  and  sunny.  Birds  were  singing,  gardens 
were  full  of  flowers,  and  it  was  beginning  to  get 
very  hot  and  close  in  the  carpeted,  cushioned 
chamber  where  the  House  6f  Commons  met. 

On  the  fourth  afternoon  he  was  remarking 
with  some  anxiety  that  Sir  James  was  late  in 
taking  his  seat  when  the  minister  of  public 
works  sent  him  to  the  library  for  a  book. 

The  little  page  hurried  back  with  it  and  found 
a  sudden  and  strange  hush  instead  of  the  usual 
whispering,  rwJtling  atmosphere  of  the  chamber. 

Some  one  had  moved  an  adjournment,  and 
from  floor  and  ^falleries  the  people  were  going 
out  as  silently  as  from  a  funeral. 

The  little  page  looked  at  the  vacant  seat  and 
paused  aghast  Then  he  approached  one  of  his 
fellow-pages,  "  Is — is  it  Sir  James  ?  " 


111 


f! 


124 


THE  UTTLE  PA6B 


"  Yes,  he*s  dangerously  ill,"  said  the  boy  un- 
der his  breath ;  "hurrah,  weVe  got  a  holiday ! " 

Stephen  dropped  the  book  that  he  had 
brought  and  steadied  himself  against  a  desk. 
Everything  grew  black  before  his  eyes  and  he 
fainted. 


During  the  next  few  days  there  were  no  ses- 
sions of  Parliament.  The  city  and  the  whole 
country  hung  breathlessly  on  the  reports  that 
came  from  the  sick-bed  of  the  great  statesman. 

Nobody  but  Mrs.  Jones  thought  or  cared  any- 
thing about  the  unhappy  little  page  who  spent 
his  time  trudging  from  the  city  down  to  Sir 
James*  country  house  so  that  he  could  read  the 
latest  bulletins  posted  on  the  gates,  and  Mrs. 
Jones  was  too  much  excited  by  the  anticipation 
of  an  approaching  State  funeral  to  take  much 
notice  of  him. 

Stephen  was  very  quiet — ^he  did  not  try  to 
attract  attention.  No  one  knew  that  of  all  the 
sad  hearts  in  the  city  none  were  so  hopelessly 
sad  as  his ;  that  of  all  the  relatives  assembled  in 
the  Delorme  mansion  no  one,  except  the  wife  of 
the  dying  man,  was  as  despairing,  as  utterly 
broken  and  helpless  as  he  was. 

Still  he  neither  moaned  nor  cried,  not  even 
when  he  sprang  up  in  bed  one  night  awakened 
by  the  sound  that  he  had  dreaded  to  hear — the 
tolling  of  the  city  bells. 

Sir  James  was  dead. 

Stephen  did  not  lie  down  again  in  bed,  but 
sat  rimost  motionless  till  daybreak.    Then  he 


THB  UTTLB  PAGB 


125 


got  up  and  put  on  his  pagers  livery  for  he  knew 
that  there  would  be  work  for  him  to  do.  The 
next  two  days  were  busy  ones  for  him  and  like  a 
boy  in  a  dream  he  obeyed  the  orders  he  received. 
At  the  close  of  that  time  an  impressive  scene 
took  place. 

Stephen  sat  with  the  other  pages  in  the  strange- 
ly changed  and  darkened  chamber.  He  would 
never  see  such  a  sight  again.  The  galleries 
were  thronged  with  men  and  women  dressed  in 
black.  Every  member  of  Parliament  was  in  his 
place  on  the  floor  of  the  House.  Along  the 
front  row  where  the  members  sat  was  the  vacant 
chair  covered  with  crape  and  having  on  the  desk 
before  it  a  wreath  of  white  flowers  and  the 
words,  "  Our  Chief." 

Stephen *s  face  was  as  pale  as  the  flowers  and  he 
could  not  take  his  eyes  from  the  mournful  seat. 

Next  it  sat  a  gentleman  who  was  the  leader 
of  the  French  party  in  the  House. 

He  had  been  a  great  friend  of  Sir  James  and 
when  he  rose  to  say  something  every  one  looked 
at  him.  He  held  a  paper  in  his  hand  and  he 
wished  to  ask  Parliament  to  give  the  dead  pre- 
mier a  State  funeral. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  in  the  chamber,  but 
the  people  could  not  hear  his  voice.  He  tried 
to  raise  it  higher,  but  he  could  not.  He  hesi- 
tated, stopped,  then  stretched  out  his  hand  to- 
ward the  pages,  who  sat  in  a  row  of  little  dark 
forms  below  the  Speaker. 

Stephen  took  the  paper  from  him  and  carried 
it  to  the  Speaker,  who  read  in  a  solemn  voice 


i\ 


126 


THB  UTTLB  PAGB 


what  it  contained,  then  sent  it  to  the  assistant- 
clerk  to  repeat  in  French. 

Some  of  the  people  in  the  gallery  were  crying, 
and  they  cried  still  more  when  a  tP  \  gentleman 
who  was  the  leader  of  the  opposition  got  up  and 
in  a  polished  manner  and  with  a  clear,  distinct 
voice  spoke  warmly  in  praise  of  the  dead  man 
with  whom  he  had  not  agreed  and  yet  whom  he 
had  admired. 

Stephen  could  not  shed  a  tear.  He  looked 
about  him  in  a  dull  way  and  wished  that  he 
could,  for  his  eyes  were  burning  as  if  they  were 
on  fire. 

That  day  and  night  he  could  neither  eat  nor 
sleep.  He  haunted  the  buildings  on  the  hill  till 
Sir  James*  body  was  carried  there  and  laid  in 
the  Senate  Chamber. 

"  I  want  a  boy  to  look  after  these  flowers," 
said  a  policeman  coming  into  the  room  where  he 
was  waiting  for  the  other  pages. 

Several  of  the  lads  stepped  forward,  but 
Stephen  pushed  them  aside. 

"  Oh,  let  me,"  he  said. 

The  policeman  stared  at  him  for  he  was  the 
smallest  of  them  all. 

"Why  you,  rather  than  a  bigger  boy?"  he 
said. 

"  Because  I  loved  him,"  replied  the  little  page. 

"  Come  in,  then,"  said  the  policeman  gruffly, 
and  he  led  the  way  through  long  corridors,  avoid- 
ing the  ones  where  people  stood  crowded  to- 
gether waiting  their  turn  to  get  into  the  Senate 
cLimber. 


THE  UTTIM  PAGB 


127 


n 


but 


The  little  page  started  back  when  they  got  to 
the  threshold,  for  he  did  not  recognize  the  room. 
All  the  red  furniture  was  covered  with  white, 
there  were  white  coverings  on  the  floor,  and  the 
walls  were  festooned  in  black. 

At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  bank  of  beauti- 
ful flowers,  many  of  them  gifts  from  England 
and  far-away  parts  of  Canada,  and  below  these 
flowers  and  partly  surrounded  by  a  guard  of  sol- 
diers and  members  of  Parliament  was  the  cen- 
tral object  in  the  room. 

The  little  page  gave  a  great  sob  when  he  saw 
the  long  steel  casket. 

"  L^t  me  look  at  him  once,"  he  said  to  the 
policeman,  "  then  I  will  come  back  to  you." 

The  policeman  nodded  and  the  boy  took  his 
place  in  the  line  of  people  passing  slowly  through 
the  room. 

There  lay  Sir  James,  dressed  in  a  handsome 
uniform,  his  face  white  and  still  on  the  satin 
pillow. 

One  glimpse  only  the  little  page  had  of  him, 
then  the  endless  line  of  spectators  behind  pushed 
him  on. 

All  night  long  and  all  the  next  morning  the 
constant  procession  of  people  through  the  Senate 
chamber  was  kept  up.  The  little  page  moved 
quietly  about,  sprinkling  the  bank  of  flowers 
with  water  and  watching  for  a  chance  to  do 
something  that  he  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  do. 

In  his  breast  pocket  lay  the  letter  addressed 
to  Sir  James  that  his  grandmother  had  given  to 
him.     He  felt  that  it  was  something  sacred  and 


\ 


128 


THE  WTTI<K  PAGE 


that  no  other  person  must  ever  touch  it.  That 
letter  must  be  put  into  the  coffin  and  buried  with 
Sir  James. 

Just  before  he  was  sent  away  his  chance  came. 
It  was  quite  late  at  night — ^there  were  not  so  many 
people  going  through  the  chamber — and  the  sol- 
diers and  the  gentlemen  dressed  in  mourning 
noticed  that  Stephen  stepped  up  to  the  casket, 
but  they  did  not  hear  him  give  one  heart-broken 
sigh  nor  did  they  see  him  slip  a  letter  in  close 
to  the  cold  hand. 

The  little  page  felt  that  his  work  was  done. 
He  went  home  across  the  big  square  that  during 
the  day  had  been  thronged  with  people  who  had 
come  to  the  city  to  take  a  last  look  at  the  face  of 
the  man  of  whom  Canada  was  so  proud.  The 
square  was  quiet  now,  but  in  the  morning  the 
people  would  come  back. 

The  next  day  was  the  worst  day  for  him. 
Sometimes  he  pinched  himself  to  feel  if  he  were 
really  alive,  and  when  the  boy  at  the  news-stand 
offered  him  a  tiny  black  flag  for  his  cap,  he  looked 
at  him  in  a  dazed  way  without  understanding  a 
word  of  what  he  said. 

Surely  this  was  not  the  quiet  city  of  Ottawa. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  moving  to  the  stately 
pile  of  the  grand  parliament  buildings.  He 
stopped  and  wearily  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 
What  a  confusion  I 

It  seemed  impossible  that  out  of  the  chaotic 
struggling  array  of  men,  women,  children,  in- 
fantry and  cavalry  officers,  different  societies 
and  associations  and  vehicles  of  all  descriptions 


THE  UTTLE  PAGE 


129 


an  orderly  procession  could  come,  and  yet  it 
did. 

At  one  o'clock  bells  were  tolled,  minute  guns 
fired,  the  bands  began  a  mournful  dead  march, 
the  dragoon  guards  filed  slowly  by;  judges, 
lawyers,  civil  servants,  city  councils,  and  many 
private  citizens,  all  marched  solemnly  in  the  di- 
rection of  one  of  the  city  churches. 

All  the  pages  were  in  the  procession,  and 
Stephen  trudged  along  with  them  the  sun  pour- 
ing down  on  his  drooping  head. 

He  did  not  notice  where  they  were  going  till 
the  puffing  of  a  steam  engine  caught  his  atten- 
tion. 

They  had  left  the  church  and  were  approach- 
ing a  railway  station. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  he  said  rousing  himself  and 
addressing  one  of  the  other  pages ;  "  are  we  not 
going  to  the  cemetery  ?  " 

"No;  you're  in  the  clouds,"  said  the  boy 
sharply.  "  Don't  you  know  they  are  going  to 
bury  him  in  the  country  ?  Thank  fortune  they 
don't  want  us." 

"  In  the  country  ?  "  gasped  Stephen. 

"  Yes,  his  family  burying-place.  Whew,  I'll 
be  glad  to  get  out  of  this ;  it's  stifling  hot !  I 
guess  we're  going  to  have  a  thunder  storm." 

A  few  minutes  later  Stephen  was  hurrying 
wearily  homeward,  not  listening  to  the  thunder 
rolling  in  the  heavens,  nor  heeding  the  rain  that 
was  drenching  him  to  the  skin. 

They  had  taken  Sir  James  away;  what  was 
he  to  do  ? 


I: 


I30 


THB  UTTI^S  PAGS 


Upon  reaching  Mrs.  Jones*  house  he  went  to 
his  room  and  counted  the  small  stock  of  money 
that  he  had.  He  did  not  know  whether  it  would 
take  him  to  the  country  or  not,  but  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  that  he  must  get  there  in  some  way 
or  other. 


Some  hundreds  of  miles  from  the  city  of 
Ottawa  is  a  green  and  well-kept  cemetery. 

There  the  dead  premier  was  laid  to  rest  and 
for  days  and  weeks  afterward  the  whole  country 
flocked  to  the  cemetery  to  look  upon  his  grave. 

The  people  did  not  come  at  night  nor  very 
early  in  the  morning,  so  those  were  the  times 
chosen  by  Lady  Delorme  to  visit  her  husband*s 
grave. 

Just  after  daylight  one  July  morning  she  left 
her  carriage  at  the  cemetery  gates  and  followed 
by  the  pitying  glance  of  her  coachman  walked 
slowly  along  the  path  to  the  new-made  grave. 

She  quickened  her  steps  on  drawing  near. 

There,  lying  on  the  white  lilies  with  his  arms 
thrown  lovingly  over  the  grassy  mound,  was  a 
very  pale  and  weary-looking  boy  who  was  fast 
asleep. 

Lady  Delorme  gazed  at  the  worn  shoes  and  the 
dusty  clothes,  and  to  her  surprise  recognized  the 
livery  of  one  of  the  Ottawa  pages.  How  had  he 
come  there  ? 

She  knelt  down  by  the  grave  without  speak- 
ing. For  a  long  time  she  remained  there  her 
lips  moving  in  prayer,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
motionless  boy. 


^HB  UTTI«B  PAGB 


X31 


Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  cry,  "Sir  James,  Sir 
James ! "  and  the  little  page  started  up  wildly. 

He  seemed  confused  when  he  saw  I^ady  De- 
lorme,  but  he  soon  recovered  himself  and  stand- 
ing up  made  her  a  bow  and  waited  for  her  to 
speak  to  him. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  she  said  gently. 

"  I  am  Stephen  Harland,  my  lady,"  he  replied. 

"Harland,"  she  returned,  "I  remember  that 
name." 

The  little  page  explained  to  her  that  he  was 
the  grandson  of  a  man  who  had  been  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Sir  James'  father. 

"  And  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  she  went  on. 

"  I  came  to  give  my  heart  to  God,  my  lady," 
said  the  little  page. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  said  with  a  puz- 
zled face. 

"  Grandmother  died,"  said  the  little  page  wear- 
ily, "  and  I  could  not  love  God ;  then  Sir  James 
died  and  I  thought  I  should  die  too,  but  I  did 
not.  I  took  my  money  to  pay  my  way  here  so 
that  I  could  see  his  grave,  but  I  had  not  enough. 
I  had  to  walk  some  of  the  way,  then  I  got  ill." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  lady  compassionately. 

"  But  I  found  friends,  my  lady,"  said  the  little 
page,  "  and  they  nursed  me  and  gave  me  money 
to  come  here,  and  I  am  glad  I  can  go  back  to 
them  if  I  wish.  I  think  though  that  I  will  re- 
turn to  Otta'ya  where  grandmother  is  buried. 
Perhaps  if  I  say  over  her  grave  that  I  love  God 
now  and  am  willing  to  be  his  little  servant  she 
will  know  it" 


13a 


THE  LITTLB  PAGfi 


"  There  is  no  one  on  the  earth  that  can  help 
us,"  said  the  lady  with  a  burst  of  tears ;  "  only 
God  can  heal  our  broken  hearts." 

"  Yes,  my  lady,"  said  the  little  page  respect- 
fully. 

Lady  Delorme  composed  herself.  "  You  look 
tired ;  go  to  my  coachman — no,  stay,  I  will  go 
with  you.  If  Sir  James  were  here  he  would  say 
that  you  must  be  taken  care  of.  Oh,  his  gen- 
erous heart,"  and  she  began  sobbing  again,  "  he 
loved  every  one— every  one  loved  him." 

The  little  page  never  left  Lady  Delorme. 

If  you  go  now  to  a  beautiful  country  house 
near  the  green  cemetery,  you  will  find  waiting  on 
her  and  loving  her  for  her  own  as  well  as  her 
husband's  sake  the  little  page  who  will  soon  be- 
come a  man. 


t/^i;^i'tfyi'>>>^. 


"Sshe  took  up  the  sp.irkling  things." 


Page  147. 


0.  • . 


rage  147. 

\ 


HER  EXCELLENCY 'S  JEWELS 


JS  excellency  the  Earl  of  Linscombe,  the 
Governor-general  of  Canada,  was  making 
what  the  newspapers  called  a  vice-regal 
progress  through  the  Dominion,  which 
he  ruled  as  representative  of  her  majesty 
the  Queen  of  England.  That  is,  he  was  going 
from  town  to  town  accompanied  by  his  wife — o. 
noble  lady  who  was  also  much  beloved  by  the 
people  of  Canada — and  a  small  suite,  and  he 
was  being  welcomed  and  f^ted,  and  public  meet- 
ings and  receptions  in  his  honor  were  being  held 
till  it  was  really  a  wonder  that  his  strength  and 
powers  of  endurance  did  not  give  out. 

In  the  course  of  their  progress  the  vice-regal 
party  came  to  a  town  situated  on  the  banks  of  a 
riyer  that  winds  through  vividly  green  meadows 
in  the  province  9f  New  Brunswick. 

On  the  evening  of  their  arrival  there  had  been 
a  band  of  music  at  the  station  to  greet  them.  A 
torchlight  procession  and  a  number  of  people  in 
carriages  escorted  them  to  the  villa  set  apai  t  for 
their  residence  while  they  were  in  the  town. 

The  next  day  there  were  addresses  of  wel- 
come, a  State  dinner,  and  an  exhibition  of  fire- 

133 


134 


HBR  BXCELLBNCY'S  JBWBI3 


works,  and  on  the  following  day  their  two  inde- 
fatigable excellencies  were  supposed  to  visit  the 
various  public  institutions  of  the  town,  which 
were  all  thrown  open  for  their  inspection. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  and  Lady 
Linscombe  was  just  about  to  go  to  her  room  for 
a  short  period  of  well-earned  rest,  when  her 
maid  brought  her  a  message  from  one  of  her 
husband^s  aides-de-camp. 

The  insane  asylum  had  not  been  visited — a 
note  had  just  come  from  the  superintendent — 
their  excellencies  had  been  expected  early  in  the 
morning ;  was  he  not  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
conducting  them  through  the  institution  over 
which  he  had  the  honor  to  preside  ? 

Lady  Linscombe  wrinkled  her  eyebrows 
slightly  and  smiled  to  herself.  Then  she  said 
gently :  "  We  must  not  neglect  any  one.  Tow- 
ers," turning  to  her  maid,  "  tell  Captain  Dysart 
that  I  will  go.  It  will  be  too  late  if  we  wait 
until  his  excellency  returns." 

An  hour  later  Lady  Linscombe  was  leaning 
back  against  the  cushions  of  her  carriage.  The 
asylum  had  been  visited  and  approved  of;  all 
its  appointments  were  orderly  and  worthy  ^f 
praise,  and  with  a  comfortable  «ense  of  having 
performed  her  duty,  her  excellency  listened  to 
an  entertaining  story  that  Captain  Dysart,  who 
sat  opposite  her,  was  relating. 

Suddenly  the  coachman  pulled  up  the  horses. 
They  had  come  to  a  street  crossing,  and  there 
stood  a  tiny  maid  holding  up  an  apron  full  of 
flowers  and  imperiously  calling,  "  Stop ! " 


HBR  BXCBLLENCY^S  JEWBLS 


135 


Captain  Dysart  turned  quickly.  "What  a 
beautiful  child  I  "  he  exclaimed. 

She  was  indeed  a  little  beauty.  She  had 
black  eyes,  black  curly  hair,  rounded,  soft  dark 
cheeks,  and  exquisitely  shaped  hands  and  feet. 

"A  veritable  gipsy,"  said  Lady  Linscombe. 
"  What  do  you  wish,  my  child  ? "  she  added 
softly. 

"To  give  you  dese,  ex'el'cy,"  said  the  little 
girl,  opening  her  apron  and  displaying  a  number 
of  crimson  roses.  "I  picked  'em  mesef;  will 
you  let  me  into  your  booful  carriage  ?  " 

She  put  her  head  on  one  side  ;  nothing  could 
exceed  the  roguishness  and  entreaty  of  her 
glances  till  the  sound  of  a  cough  made  her  turn 
her  head  and  espy  a  tall  policeman  sauntering 
across  the  street  toward  her. 

"  Oh,  go  'way,  go  'way ! "  she  cried  wildly, 
yet  laughing  at  the  same  time.  "  Bad  man,  you 
are  everywhere.  I  shall  not  go  home,"  and  hold- 
ing her  flowers  tightly  to  her  bosom,  she  clung 
to  the  carriage  step. 

The  newcomer  suppressed  a  laugh,  and  raising 
his  hand  to  his  helmet,  waited  to  be  addressed. 

"  Who  is  this  child  ?  "  asked  Captain  Dysart, 
looking  at  the  little  girl. 

"  She's  the  worst  little  girl  in  the  town,  sir. 
We  call  her  the  *  runaway,'  because  she  never 
stays  at  home." 

"Are  her  parents  living?"  asked  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  Her  mother  is  dead,  sir,  and  her  father  is  an 
officer  in  the  army  out  in  India.     He  sent  this 


136 


HER  EXCELI^ENCY^S  JEWELS 


little  g^rl  home  awhile  ago  on  account  of  the 
climate.  She's  got  an  aunt  here,  a  nice  lady 
who  keeps  a  school ;  but  do  her  best,  she  can't 
keep  the  child  indoors.  She's  crazy  about  the 
water,  as  they  say  Indian  children  often  are; 
she's  down  by  the  river  and  into  the  ponds  all 
day  long,  and  always  with  that  dabble  of  wet 
down  the  front  of  her  little  'pinny.'  " 

"  And  she  does  not  like  you  because  you  take 
her  home  ?  " 

"That's  it,  sir." 

"  Is  it  safe  to  have  her  wander  about  alone  ?  " 
asked  I^ady  Linscombe. 

"  Your  excellency,"  said  the  policeman,  touch- 
ing his  helmet  again,  "  nothing  could  happen  to 
her  in  this  quiet  place ;  everybody  knows  her. 
Then  after  she  gets  over  the  novelty  of  the 
thing,  I  expect  she'll  settle  down." 

"  Let  me  in,  ex'el'cy,"  pleaded  the  child,  still 
clinging  to  the   carriage;    "I  hate   that    bad 


)» 


man. 

The  policeman  shook  his  head  at  her.  "  You 
don't  hate  any  one.  Miss  Runaway,  it  isn't  in 
you;  you've  learned  to  tell  stories  out  there 
among  those  Hindus.  Come,  now,  go  home  to 
your  aunt.  You  wouldn't  think,  your  excel- 
lency," he  said,  turning  to  the  carriage,  "  to  look 
at  this  nice  little  girl  that  she's  been  tied  up 
similar  to  a  little  dog ;  but  she'll  bite  and  scratch 
and  gnaw  ropes,  and  even  burrow  underground 
to  run  away." 

"  Let  me  in,  dear  ex'el'cy,"  begged  the  little 
one,  her  curly  head  on  one  side,  her  eloquent 


HER  EXCEI.I<ENCY'S  JEWELS 


'^S? 


take 


still 
bad 


dark  eyes  fixed  coaxingly  on  the  bright  blue 
ones  so  earnestly  surveying  her. 

Lady  Linscombe  glanced  at  Captain  Dysart, 
and  turning  the  handle  of  the  carriage  door  he 
assisted  the  child  in,  who  nestled  on  the  seat 
close  to  her  excellency's  graceful  figure. 

"I  saw  you  in  the  march  last  night,"  mur- 
mured the  little  girl,  caressing  the  tailor-made 
gown  with  soft  fingers.  "  There  was  red  fire  all 
round  you,  and  you  looked  boofuUer  than 
angels." 

Lady  Linscombe  took  the  child  on  her  lap. 
She  was  exquisitely  neat  and  clean  except  a  few 
flower  stains  on  her  tiny  brown  hands  and,  as  the 
policeman  had  said,  a  dabble  of  wet  down  the 
front  of  her  embroidered  muslin  frock. 

"I  beg  your  excellency's  pardon,"  said  the 
policeman,  coming  a  little  nearer,  "  but  I  must 
ask  her  if  she  stole  those  roses.  There's  been 
complaints  lodged  against  her.  Did  you,  miss  ? 
I  saw  some  just  like  them  in  the  mayor's  garden." 

"  I  was  goin'  to  be  a  naughty  thief,"  said  the 
child,  biting  her  red  lips  which  hid  two  rows  of 
pearly  teeth,  "  then  Mr.  Mayor  he  said  he  would 
not  put  me  in  prison,  and  he  picked  'em  hisself," 
and  she  burst  into  a  triumphant  laugh. 

"And  that  was  pretty  good  of  Mr.  Mayor," 
growled  the  policeman,  "  considerin'  it  was  only 
a  week  ago  that  you  got  into  his  house  and  set 
all  his  faucets  running,  which  would  have 
drenched  his  furniture  and  carpets  if  it  hadn't 
been  discovered." 

The  child  turned  her  back  on  him  and  said  : 


138 


HER  EXCELI<ENCY'S  JEWELS 


"Away  over  the  water  in  my  papa's  country  I 
knew  an  ex'el'cy  and  she  took  me  home  in  her 
booful  carriage." 

Lady  Linscombe  smiled  and  requested  Captain 
Dysart  to  get  the  child's  address. 

"  Six  Cypress  Street,  sir,"  said  the  policeman. 
"Mrs.  Leigh  is  her  aunt's  name." 

The  little  girl  threw  a  rose  at  him  as  the  car- 
riage rolled  away,  while  Lady  Linscombe  bowed 
graciously. 

"  She's  a  real  lady  and  no  make-believe,"  he 
muttered,  looking  admiringly  after  her  excel- 
lency. "  It's  only  the  high-up  ones  that  know 
how  t  treat  folks  that  have  not  much  money. 
These  apstarts,  I  hate  'em,"  and  he  curled  his 
lip  as  he  strode  away. 

Lady  Linscombe  and  Captain  Dysart  were 
looking  with  much  interest  at  the  dark-haired, 
vivacious  child  who  was  prattling  to  them  of 
India,  which  something  in  their  appearance  and 
surroundings  had  recalled  to  her. 

"  What  is  your  name,  little  one  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Linscombe. 

"  Beatrice  Maude,"  said  the  child ;  "but  most 
gen'ly  I'm  called  Gipsy — naughty  Gipsy  Leigh. 
I  runned  away  this  morning  and  I  fink  Aunt  Dora 
will  be  in  a  stew  about  me." 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  day  ?  "  asked  the 
gentleman. 

"Up  to  the  cem'tery  pouring  water  on  the 
lubly  violets  on  my  dear  ayah's  grave.  She  did 
not  like  these  cold  skies  and  cried  and  shivered 
and  went  up  to  live  with  God ;  then  I  played  by 


HER  EXCELI*ENCY*S  JEWELS 


139 


the 


the  river  with  some  little  black  chillen  and  then 
was  getting  my  dinner  at  the  hotel." 

"  How  do  you,  ah — go  about  it — that  is,  dining 
at  the  hotel  at  your  tender  age  ?  "  asked  Captain 
Dysart,  smiling  broadly  at  her. 

"  Don^t  you  know,"  said  Gipsy  benevolently, 
"  a  big  man  like  you  ?  You  walks  in  and  takes 
a  seat,  then  you  bows  your  head  and  says  grace 
and  the  waiter  pushes  your  chair  in  and  says, 
*  What  is  your  order,  miss  ?  *  and  then  you  say 
bread  and  milk  and  potato  and  gravy  and  some 
fruit.  Then  he  tucks  a  napkin  under  your  chin 
and  you  eats  all  you  can." 

"  But  you  have  forgotten  the  most  important 
part,"  said  Captain  Dysart  gravely. 

Gipsy  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  and  asked 
him  what  he  meant. 

"  How  do  you  pay  your  bill  ?  " 

Gipsy  laughed  long  and  merrily.  "Put  out 
your  hand,  Mr.  Gen'leman ;  take  off  your  glove." 

He  obeyed  her  and  pulling  a  long-stemmed  but- 
tercup from  her  dress  she  held  it  over  her  palm. 
"  See  that  yellow  mark,  that's  gold.  Daisies  is 
silver;  when  I  don't  have  no  flowers  I  runs 
away." 

lyady  Linscombe  sighed  gently  as  she  glanced 
across  at  her  escort.  "  What  a  strange  life  for  a 
child  I    She  should  not  be  allowed  to  lead  it." 

"Then  I  was  looking  for  you,  ex'el'cy,"  re- 
marked Gipsy,  carrying  one  of  the  gloved  hands 
caressingly  to  her  lips. 

They  had  arrived  before  a  small  ivy-covered 
cottage  where  a  slender  woman  with  a  laughing 


140 


HER  EXCELI*ENCY'S  JEWEI*S 


face  like  Gipsy's  and  a  widow's  gown  on  came 
hurrying  to  the  gate  and  somewhat  nervously 
surveyed  the  grand  carriage. 

"We  have  brought  your  niece  home,"  said 
Lady  Linscombe  in  response  to  her  embarrassed 
apologies ;  "  it  has  been  a  pleasure,  I  assure  you. 
Now  my  little  one  we  must  part." 

Gipsy  sat  back  and  shook  her  head  seriously, 
"  Some  little  girls  scream,"  she  said,  "  when  you 
makes  'em  do  things  they  doesn't  want  to ;  they 
scream  louder  than  the  siren  whistles  on  the 
river  boats." 

The  footman  standing  with  his  hand  on  the 
carriage  door  turned  his  head  aside  and  glanced 
up  enviously  at  the  coachman  who,  having  his 
back  to  his  mistress,  was  enabled  to  smile  and 
even  indulge  in  a  faint  chuckle  unobserved. 

*"I  know  they  can,"  said  Lady  Linscombe 
kindly ;  "  but  you  will  be  a  good  child  Gipsy  and 
not  do  so." 

"  I  like  to  be  a  bad  child,  ex'el'cy,"  said  the 
little  girl  settling  herself  back  in  a  corner,  "  you 
has  more  fun  and  " —  knitting  her  pretty  brows 
at  Captain  Dysart  and  the  footman — "  if  any  man 
lifts  me  out  of  this  boof ul  carriage  I  know  I  shall 
scream." 

"  Do  come,  Gipsy,"  said  her  aunt  extending 
her  hands.  "I  have  some  delicious  cakes  for 
your  tea." 

"  Aunt  Dora,"  said  the  child  leaning  forward 
for  an  instant,  "  go  way ;  I  haven't  much  'pinion 
of  you.  Her  ex'el'cy  is  like  India  and  my  dear 
papa  and  I'm  going  to  live  with  her." 


HER  SXC£I«I«BNCY'S  J£WEI<S 


141 


The  hands  were  promptly  withdrawn.  Here 
was  a  very  naughty  child,  and  Lady  I^inscombe 
looked  helplessly  at  her. 

At  last  a  plan  suggested  itself.  "  If  you  go 
into  the  house  without  screaming  you  may  come 
and  see  me  to-morrow,"  she  said. 

"  All  yite,  ex'ePcy,"  and  with  unexpected  haste 
the  child  tumbled  out  of  the  carriage  and  rushed 
into  the  cottage  as  if  fearful  that  her  good  re- 
solve might  leave  her. 

"  A  case  of  love  at  first  sight,"  murmured  Cap- 
tain Dysart  as  they  turned  homeward.  "  I  hope 
that  the  little  girl  may  not  take  advantage  of 
your  excellency's  well-known  love  for  children 
aud  victimize  you. 

During  the  remainder  of  Lady  Linscombe's 
stay  in  the  picturesque  city  by  the  beautiful  Ca- 
nadian river.  Captain  Dysart  had  reason  to  fear 
many  times  that  little  Gipsy  Leigh  was  taking 
advantage  of  the  devotion  to  children  that  was 
one  of  the  striking  characteristics  of  the  noble 
lady  with  whom  she  was  so  greatly  taken. 

The  child  gave  up  her  wanderings  about  the 
town,  and  morning,  noon,  and  night  was  to  be 
found  at  the  villa  gates  begging  the  lodge-keeper 
to  let  her  in  to  see  her  dear  ex'ePcy.  One  day 
when  she  was  refused  admittance  she  did  as  the 
policeman  said  she  would  do,  she  burrowed 
under  the  picket  fence  to  emerge  triumphantly 
and  prosecute  a  successful  search  for  Lady  Lins- 
combe,  which  brought  her  into  a  drawing  room 
full  of  dignified  people,  where  she  looked  like  a 


143 


HBR  BXCfil^LBNCY'S  JEWBI3 


little  dirty  white  rabbit  as  she  dropped  on  a  foot- 
stool beside  her  astonished  excellency. 

It  was  a  complete  case  of  infatuation,  the 
townspeople  said,  and  they  sincerely  hoped  that 
the  good  influence  that  her  excellency  was  gra- 
ciously exerting  would  have  a  reforming  effect 
upon  one  of  the  most  troublesome  children  that 
ever  lived. 

The  endeavor  was  greatly  helped  by  an  ac- 
cident that  befell  I/>rd  Linscombe  which  de- 
tained the  vice-regal  party  a  much  longer  time 
than  had  been  expected.  He  sprained  his  ankle 
one  day  in  getting  from  his  carriage  and  for  some 
weeks  he  was  forbidden  to  move  about,  so  that 
traveling  was  out  of  the  question.  When  Gipsy 
understood  the  significance  of  the  affair  she 
wickedly  said  that  she  was  glad. 

Day  after  day  she  visited  the  villa,  and  Lady 
Linscombe,  who  could  not  help  being  touched  by 
the  child's  devotion  and  who  really  took  a  warm 
interest  in  her,  instructed  her  servants,  with 
whom  the  child  necessarily  spent  a  great  deal  of 
her  time,  to  talk  wisely  to  her  and  to  try  to  im- 
plant useful  lessons  in  her  lawless  little  breast. 

One  afternoon  while  Lady  Linscombe  was  oc- 
cupied with  a  visiting  delegation  of  ladies  from 
some  society,  her  maid  Towers  was  alternately 
giving  Gipsy  a  reading  lesson  and  listening  to 
her  babble  about  India. 

Towers  was  a  good-natured  looking  woman 
who  had  been  with  Lady  Linscombe  but  a  short 
time,  having  taken  the  place  of  a  valued  maid 
who  had  suddenly  fallen  ill.     In  some  respects 


HBR  BXCBLLENCY'S  }BWSI<S 


143 


she  was  rather  an  unsatisfactory  servant,  but 
Lady  Linscombe  had  kindly  and  patiently 
pointed  out  some  of  her  faults  to  her  and  Towers 
was  apparently  trying  to  do  better. 

Gipsy  was  very  fond  of  Towers,  and  on  this 
day  after  closing  her  book  she  said,  "  Tell  me  a 
story  about  the  time  when  you  were  a  little 
girl." 

Towers  told  her  a  long  tale  about  a  pleasant 
childhood  spent  in  a  cottage  by  the  sea. 

"Have  you  any  little  brothers  and  sisters 
now?"  asked  Gipsy. 

"  No,"  said  Towers  sadly,  "they  are  all  dead." 

"  And  no  little  girls  and  no  little  boys  ?  "  asked 
Gipsy. 

"  No  ;  only  a  husband." 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  "  said  Gipsy. 

"Oh,  he  is  somewhere,"  said  Towers  eva- 
sively. 

"Why  don*t  you  live  with  him?"  urged  the 
little  girl. 

Towers  caught  her  breath.  "Oh,  I  hope  to 
some  day  when  we  have  money  enough." 

"  Are  you  very  poor  ?  " 

Towers  laughed  bitterly.  "  Yes,  Miss  Gipsy. 
Poor  folks  can't  live  on  air,  and  it  takes  money 
to  keep  men  going,  it  takes  money.  Women 
can  manage ^"  and  she  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  Show  me  his  picture,  please,"  said  Gipsy. 

Towers  started.     "  Oh,  I  cannot,  I  cannot." 

Something  in  her  manner  struck  the  little 
girl.  "  I  know  it  already,"  she  said ;  "  it  is  the 
picture  of  that  black,  black  man  you  kiss." 


144 


HBR  BXCBI^LBNCY^S  J£WBI«S 


Towers  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed 
resignedly.  "Well,  if  you  know  it  already, 
there's  no  harm  in  showing  you,"  she  said,  and 
she  drew  it  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress ;  "  but. 
Miss  Gipsy,  he  isn't  black — he's  not  so  dark  as 
you  are.  It's  the  photographer  that  has  made 
him  look  so." 

"  I  don't  like  him,  he  is  cross,"  said  Gipsy, 
pushing  the  picture  aside.     "  Put  him  away." 

"He  is  not  cross,"  said  Towers ;  "he  is  the 
kindest  man  in  the  world." 

"  I'm  tired,"  ejaculated  Gipsy,  throwing  down 
her  book,  "  and  I  forgot  to  feed  my  pussy-cat, 
and  I'm  going  home.  Tell  her  dear  ex'el'cy 
good-bye  for  me." 

Slowly,  and  yawning  sleepily,  for  it  was  a 
very  warm  day,  the  child  went  down  the  front 
staircase,  peeping  curiously  between  the  railings 
into  a  white  and  gold  room  where  the  French 
windows  stood  open  and  there  was  a  glitter  of 
pretty  draperies  and  handsome  dresses.  She 
wished  very  much  to  go  in,  but  she  did  not  dare 
do  so,  for  she  had  been  plainly  told  that  if  she 
did  not  observe  the  rules  of  this  house  she  would 
not  be  allowed  to  visit  it. 

"  Dear  ex'el'cy,"  she  murmured,  "  Gipsy  likes 
you  better  than  the  flowers  ;  oh,  oh,  I  am  hotter 
than  I  ever  was  in  my  life."  She  paused  before 
a  glass  in  the  hall.  Her  curly,  black  hair  was 
lying  in  wet  rings  on  her  forehead,  and  the  neck 
of  her  little  gown  was  damp. 

Dragging  her  tiny  feet  along,  she  entered  a 
small  park  near  the  house.    The  avenue  wound 


HBR  BXCBLLBNCY^S  JBWBLS 


145 


» 


through  it  to  the  gateway,  but  Gipsy  did  not  go 
so  far  as  that.  She  strayed  aside  from  the  gravel 
road  to  pick  a  lily  and  sat  down  to  arrange  it  in 
the  ribbon  of  her  broad-rimmed  hat,  then  rolling 
over  on  the  grass  under  the  spreading  branches 
of  a  thorn,  she  fell  fast  asleep. 

That  evening  there  was  to  be  a  reception  held 
in  a  country  house  some  miles  up  the  river. 
Lord  and  Lady  Linscombe  owing  to  their  official 
position  did  not  attend  any  form  of  entertain- 
ment given  by  a  private  individual,  but  in  this 
case  an  exception  was  made  as  the  people  giving 
the  reception  were  members  of  a  noble  English 
family  closely  connected  with  that  of  the  Earls 
of  Linscombe. 

So  their  excellencies  were  going,  and  as  the 
long  summer  twilight  closed  in  the  men  up  at 
the  stable  were  busy  preparing  the  carriages,  the 
cook  in  the  kitchen  and  the  tablemaids  were  oc- 
cupied in  serving  dinner  to  a  vice-regal  house- 
hold assembled  in  the  dining  room,  and  the  halls, 
the  drawing  room,  and  the  librar>'  in  the  front  of 
the  house  were  as  quiet  and  apparently  as  de- 
serted as  the  park  outside. 

Up  in  Lady  Linscombe's  dressing  room,  over 
the  front  hall,  her  maid.  Towers,  was  moving 
about  with  a  curious  expression  on  her  face.  She 
was  very  pale,  till  noticing  the  appearance  of  her 
cheeks  in  a  glass,  she  rubbed  something  on  them 
to  make  them  red.  But  she  could  do  nothing  to 
change  the  expression  of  her  eyes,  and  not  lik- 
ing to  look  at  herself,  she  turned  away  from  her 


146 


HER  BXCEI<LSNCY'S  JBWBI3 


reflection  and  busied  herself  with  laying  out  an 
evening  gown  for  her  mistress  and  selecting  a 
pair  of  glovejJ  to  go  with  it.  Then  she  .  x)k  a 
key  from  her  pocket  and  went  to  a  large  box 
that  stood  in  a  comer  of  the  room.  It  had  a 
very  intricate  lock,  and  Towers  was  some  time 
in  opening  it.  Finally  the  fastenings  yielded, 
and  lifting  the  lid,  she  drew  out  several  small 
cases.  These  she  laid  on  the  table,  and  pressing 
the  springs  drew  out  magnificent  glittering  dia- 
monds in  bracelets,  rings,  earrings,  and  a  neck- 
lace. Her  hand  shook  while  she  arranged  them 
— she  bit  her  lip  nervously,  made  a  few  steps 
toward  the  window,  turned  back  again,  but 
finally  decided  what  she  would  do.  She  placed 
a  signal  in  the  window  by  throwing  out  the  ends 
of  two  long  lace  curtains ;  then  she  stepped  into 
the  hall,  listened  carefully,  and  finding  every- 
thing still,  went  rapidly  toward  the  kitchen, 
where  she  engaged  in  an  interrupted,  but  seem- 
ingly cheerful  gossip  with  the  cook. 

In  the  meantime  Gipsy  woke  up.  Just  about 
the  same  time  that  Towers  left  the  dressing  room 
she  scrambled  to  her  feet,  looked  sleepily  about 
her,  then  recognizing  where  she  was,  for  she  was 
used  to  waking  up  in  all  kinds  of  unexpected 
places,  said :  "Tm  hungry ;  perhaps  ex'el'cy  will 
give  me  something  to  eat  before  I  go  home." 

She  started  to  run  toward  the  house  at  full 
speed.  A  little,  dark,  slight  man  who  had  been 
standing  behind  an  elm,  drew  back  when  he  saw 
her  and  frowned  savagely.  He  was  the  man  to 
whom  Towers  had  been  signaling,  and  he  was 


I 


HER  BXCBLI^BNCY'S  JBWBI3 


147 


I 


in  a  hurry  to  get  into  the  house  and  out  again 
before  their  excellencies  had  finished  dining. 

Gipsy  trotted  in  through  the  hall  and  paused 
as  she  heard  the  sound  of  voices  and  the  tinkling 
of  china  and  silver  in  the  dining  room.  She 
was  gradually  learning  tljp  proprieties  of  life  and 
knew  that  she  must  not  interrupt  a  dinner  party. 
Yet  she  was  hungry.  It  suddenly  came  to  her 
mind  that  she  had  dropped  some  cherries  behind 
a  sofa  in  Lady  Linscombe's  dressing  room.  There 
were  not  very  many,  but  still  they  would  be  bet- 
ter than  nothing,  and  perhaps  she  would  find 
Towers,  who  would  get  her  something  to  eat. 

She  hurried  upstairs,  but  on  entering  the 
dressing  room  stopped  short  with  a  cry  of  de- 
light. What  dazzling  things  were  those  I  They 
were  far  brighter  than  the  most  beautiful  glass 
beads  that  she  had  ever  seen.  She  ran  up  to  the 
dressing  table  and  clasped  the  diamonds  eagerly, 
then  murmuring  and  laughing  to  herself,  she 
took  up  the  sparkling  things,  handled  them 
caressingly,  and  finally  clasped  the  necklace 
around  her  little  dark  throat,  hung  the  bracelets 
over  her  arms,  slipped  her  fingers  through  the 
rings,  and  even  hooked  the  earrings  in  her  black 
curls. 

However,  attractive  as  they  were,  the  dia- 
monds did  not  satisfy  her  hunger,  and  she  turned 
from  the  glass  where  she  had  been  surveying 
herself  in  deep  admiration,  and  dropping  on  her 
hands  and  knees,  crept  behind  the  sofa. 

The  cherries  were  there,  two  dozen  and  more, 
scattered  over  the  floor,  and  one  by  one  she 


148 


HBR  BXCBLLBNCY'S  JBWBLS 


picked  them  up,  polished  them  on  her  white 
dress,  and  ate  them,  nibbling  every  particle  of 
the  luscious  fruit  from  the  stones  with  her  little 
sharp  teeth,  occasionally  stopping  to  push  up  the 
bracelets  that  kept  dropping  down  over  her 
wrists  and  got  in  her  way. 

While  she  sat  there  as  quiet  as  a  mouse  and 
quite  invisible  to  any  one  entering  the  room,  the 
dark,  slight  man  glided  in  from  the  park,  slipped 
up  the  front  stairs  and  came  in  where  she  was. 
The  first  thing  that  his  eyes  fell  on  was  the 
array  of  empty  jewel  cases. 

He  stared  increduously,  then  looked  at  the  pre- 
concerted signal — ^the  lace  curtains  hanging  from 
the  window — looked  back  at  the  boxes  again, 
and  with  a  stealthy  step,  went  all  around  the 
room,  opening  drawers,  lifting  the  lids  of  boxes, 
till  at  last  approaching  the  big  one  in  the  corner 
he  raised  its  cover  and  took  out  the  small  one. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  examining  this,  a 
faint  noise  made  him  start.  He  glanced  toward 
the  sofa  in  the  comer  of  the  room,  then  went  to 
it  and  looked  over  the  back.  He  could  scarcely 
believe  the  evidence  of  his  eyesight.  There  sat 
a  little  girl  arrayed  in  the  jewels  that  he  had  come 
to  steal.     She  had  them  all  on,  every  one. 

He  made  an  astonished  gesture,  leaned  over 
toward  her,  and  the  next  instant  Gipsy  would 
have  been  rapidly  stripped  of  her  excellency's 
jewels  if  she  had  not  caught  sight  of  him  and 
looked  up  with  a  cheerful  "  How  d'ye  do,  Towers' 
husband  ?  " 

The  man  was  a  very  composed  person;  he 


, 


HER  EXCEIXENCY^S  JEWELS 


149 


i 


he 


had  only  been  taken  aback  once  or  twice  in  his 
life,  and  this  was  one  of  the  occasions. 

"Towers'  husband,"  he  muttered,  *'you  lit- 
tle   ,"  and  he  called  Gipsy  a  very  bad  name. 

"  How  do  you  know  who  I  am  ? " 

Gipsy  was  not  at  all  afraid  of  him.  She  had 
met  many  strangers  in  the  course  of  her  life  and 
unfortunately  she  was  accustomed  •  to  being 
scolded,  for  she  had  been  at  times  a  very  naughty 
girl,  so  she  replied  quite  calmly :  "  You  looks  like 
your  picture,  only  worse.  I  am  glad  I  am  not 
your  little  girl.  Go  get  me  something  to  eat, 
won't  you  ?  I'm  'most  starving,"  and  going  down 
on  her  hands  and  knees  again,  she  crept  under 
the  sofa  and  emerged  beside  him. 

"Where  did  you  get  these?"  he  asked, 
touching  with  trembling  finger  the  jewels  that 
hung  around  the  child's  neck. 

"  I  fink  they're  exel'cy's,"  said  Gipsy.  "  Go 
'way  bad  man.  I  hate  you  to  touch  me,"  and 
shrugging  her  shoulders  she  turned  her  back  on 
him.     "Send  Towers  to  me." 

The  man  did  not  go  away,  but  stood  over  her. 
Luckily  for  the  child  she  did  not  know  his  des- 
perate condition  of  mind.  He  was  thinking 
over  a  number  of  plans.  For  weeks  he  had 
been  waiting  for  a  chance  to  steal  Lady  Lins- 
combe's  valuable  jewels. 

For  many  a  weary  mile  he  had  followed  the 
vice-regal  party.  Here  in  this  favorable  place 
a  plot  had  been  arranged  between  him  and  his 
too  yielding  wife.  She  was  to  lay  out  the  dia- 
monds, then  disregarding  her  mistress'  order, 


150 


HER  EXCEI,I,ENCY*S  JEWELS 


which  was  that  she  was  never  to  leave  them  un- 
guarded, she  was  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen 
while  her  husband  was  to  steal  in  from  the  park, 
seize  the  jewels,  and  run  away  with  them  to  a 
hiding-place  in  a  forest  beyond  the  city. 

There  he  could  remain  till  all  danger  of  dis- 
covery was  over,  then  he  would  make  his  way 
to  some  large  city  where  he  could  sell  the  dia- 
monds and  be  joined  by  his  wife. 

This  was  his  wicked  plan.  He  had  not 
thought  of  the  sin  of  robbing  Lady  Linscombe, 
who  had  been  so  kind  to  his  wife,  he  had  thought 
only  of  getting  some  money  for  himself. 

Now  he  was  thwarted  by  a  child.  Owing  to 
her  extraordinary  recognition  of  him,  if  he  took 
the  jewels  from  her  his  wife  would  be  ruined,  for 
the  child  would  say,  "  Towers'  husband  stole  the 
diamonds,"  and  he  would  probably  be  traced  and 
arrested ;  and  he  had  fancied  that  not  a  soul  in 
the  place  would  recognize  him. 

It  was  maddening,  and  he  ground  his  teeth  at 
Gipsy,  who  was  frowning  impatiently  at  him. 

"  Towers,"  called  the  child  suddenly,  lifting 
up  her  shrill  little  voice,  "  Towers,  Towers." 

In  the  still  evening  air  her  voice  carried  all 
over  the  house.  Towers  in  the  kitchen  down 
below  ran  up  a  back  stairway  like  a  deer,  while 
Lady  Linscombe  sent  a  tablemaid  in  great  haste 
to  know  what  was  the  matter  with  the  child. 

Towers'  husband  immediately  took  his  part. 
He  knew  that  it  would  not  do  for  him  to  run 
away — ^that  would  be  sure  to  draw  suspicion  on 
him;  he  would  stay  and  greet  his  wife  as  natu- 


I 


I 


:i 


HER  BXCELLBNCY'S  JEWELS 


151 


i 


p 


rally  as  he  could  and  as  if  he  had  come  only  for 
the  purpose  of  seeing  her.  Yet  he  ought  not  to 
be  found  in  I^ady  Linscombe^s  dressing  room,  so 
he  stepped  out  into  the  hall. 

Towers,  breathless  and  confused,  stopped  short 
when  she  saw  him,  but  soon  threw  herself  on 
his  n6ck.  In  a  few  hurried  syllables  he  told  her 
what  had  happened,  then  he  melted  away  like  a 
shadow  in  the  direction  of  the  park. 

Gipsy  stood  staring  at  them  and  peevishly 
submitted  to  be  stripped  of  the  jewels  which 
Towers  dropped  hastily  into  their  cases  as  if 
they  burnt  her. 

"  You  darling  child,"  said  the  woman  kissing 
her  pretty  hands.    "  You  darling,  darling  child." 

"  I  was  cross  to  your  husband,"  said  Gipsy  in 
mild  surprise.     "  I  don't  like  him." 

"  Never  mind,  pet,"  said  Towers,  "  he  means 
well,  but  it's  hard  for  some  people  to  be  good. 
Go  to  the  pantry,  sweetheart,  and  Mary  will  give 
you  some  bread  and  milk." 

"  God  bless  the  little  child,"  she  sobbed,  throw- 
ing herself  on  her  knees  as  Gipsy  left  the  room. 
"  I  thank  heaven  that  she  was  sent  here."  And 
Towers  throwing  her  arm  around  the  diamonds 
fainted  dead  away. 

"  Ex'el'cy,"  asked  Gipsy  as  she  was  about  to 
be  sent  home  that  evening,  "  do  men  ever  wear 
pretty  stones  like  yours  ?  " 

"No,  they  do  not,"  said  Lady  Linscombe, 
"  but  they  buy  them  for  their  wives  and  daugh- 
ters." 


152 


HER  EXCEI.I,ENCY'S  JEWEI^ 


"I  fink  Towers*  husband  wants  some  like 
yours  for  Towers,"  said  the  child  innocently, 
"  *cause  he  looked  as  if  he  loved  them." 

I^ady  Linscombe  said  nothing,  but  her  face,  as 
she  got  into  her  carriage  and  drove  away,  was  a 
very  thoughtful  one. 

She  was  thinking  over  her  maid's  agitation  as 
she  dressed  her — ^her  flushed  cheeks,  her  red 
eyes,  and  the  trembling  of  her  hands. 

She  was  still  thinking  of  her  when  she  en- 
tered the  reception  room,  and  her  sweet  serious- 
ness of  manner  made  her  seem  more  charming 
than  ever.  Everybody  said  how  very  beautiful 
her  excellency  was  that  evening.  There  was  no 
one  present  who  could  vie  with  her  for  distinc- 
tion and  elegance ;  but  her  face  still  wore  the 
same  thoughtful  expression  and  lyord  Lins- 
combe kept  anxiously  watching  her. 

At  last  he  seized  a  moment  when  they  were 
standing  near  each  other  to  say,  "  You  are  not 
feeling  well  this  evening,  Adelaide." 

"  It  is  these  diamonds,"  she  said,  holding  up 
her  head  as  if  to  avoid  the  sight  of  them. 
"  They  oppress  me." 

Lord  Linscombe  glanced  at  the  stones  spar- 
kling on  her  neck  and  arms,  and  asked,  "  Why  do 
you  make  so  disturbing  a  remark  ?  " 

"  There  were  tears  on  my  necklace  this  even- 
ing, Gerald,"  she  said,  "a  woman's  tears;  I 
cannot  wear  them  again.  You  know  that  I  have 
little  love  for  precious  stones.  Will  you  not 
send  them  to  the  banker's  ?  Suppose  some  poor 
weak  man  or  woman  should  steal  them  and  be 


HER  EXCELI^ENCY'S  JEWELS 


153 


sent  to  prison.     It  would  cause  me  intense  un- 
happiness." 

"  I  know  it  would,"  said  his  excellency  hastily. 
"  I  shall  send  them  away ;  they  are  not  worth  a 
sigh  from  you.  Now  will  you  become  yourself 
again  ?  " 

Lady  Linscombe  smiled  lovingly  at  him  and 
they  separated. 

When  they  were  on  their  way  home  that 
night  driving  under  the  wide-spreading  branches 
of  the  forest  trees  extended  over  the  quiet  road, 
Lady  Linscombe  said  to  her  husband :  "  Do  you 
think  that  you  could  have  some  employment 
found  for  the  husband  of  my  maid,  who  has 
come  to  visit  her  and  who  has  nothing  to  do  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,"  was  the  reply. 
*'  What  can  he  do  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  a  valet ;  but  Towers  says  he 
will  do  anything.  She  wishes  him  to  give  up 
the  roving  life  he  has  been  leading." 

"  I  will  have  him  looked  after  at  once,"  said 
his  excellency ;  "  but  are  you  not  discouraged  ? 
You  know  a  good  many  of  your  protkgks  do  not 
turn  out  well." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  some  of  them  do,  and  nothing 
excuses  us  from  our  duty.  We  must  extend  a 
helping  hand  to  every  feeble  brother  or  sister, 
or  we  shall  not  have  the  approval  of  our  own 
consciences  or  the  blessing  of  God — ^but  you 
understand  this  better  than  I  do  and  act  upon  it 
more  faithfully." 

"  No,  no ;  not  more  faithfully,"  said  his  excel- 
lency ;  "  but  I  am  thankful  every  day  of  my  life 


154 


HER  EXCEI^LENCY'S  JEWEI^S 


that  we  both  understand  that  there  is  no  happi- 
ness in  this  world  except  as  one  acknowledges 
the  privilege  of  rendering  loving  service  to  all. 
By  the  way,  what  arrangement  have  you  made 
about  your  other  protkgkey  the  little  girl  you 
call  Gipsy?'; 

"  I  am  going  to  have  a  farewell  talk  with  her 
to-morrow  "  said  Lady  Linscombe.  "  She  does 
not  know  that  we  are  to  leave  here  in  two  days. 
However,  she  has  already  promised  me  that  she 
will  tell  no  more  falsehoods,  that  she  will  keep 
away  from  the  river,  and  that  she  will  attend  her 
aunt's  school  with  other  little  girls." 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  keep  her  promise  ?  " 

"I  think  so,  for  she  has  a  great  desire  to  visit 
me  some  day,  and  I  told  her  that  unless  she 
fulfills  these  conditions  she  cannot  come." 

"  She  will  probably  do  as  you  wish,"  said  Lord 
Linscombe;  "you  have  a  marvelous  influence 
over  children." 

Lady  Linscombe  did  not  reply  to  him  and 
they  drove  silently  home. 

Two  days  later  the  whole  town  assembled  on 
the  bank  of  the  river  to  see  their  excellencies 
leave.  It  seemed  to  the  citizens  that  they  were 
losing  dear  friends — Lord  and  Lady  Linscombe 
had  been  so  kind,  so  interested  in  the  people  of 
the  town,  in  their  industries  and  charities,  and, 
best  of  all,  they  had  been  so  attentive  to  the 
poor  and  suffering  ones. 

Gipsy  stood  beside  her  aunt,  tightly  holding 
her  hand.    She  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to 


HER  EXCEI*I,ENCY*S  JEWEW 


155 


and 


cry,  and  she  bravely  waved  her  handkerchief  as 
the  carriage  containing  their  excellencies  and 
their  suite  drove  down  to  the  wharf,  but  when 
the  band  struck  up  "  God  Save  the  Queen,"  she 
broke  down. 

"  I  can't  let  you  go,  ex'ePcy,"  she  cried,  and 
breaking  away  from  her  aunt  she  dashed  under 
horses*  heads  and  between  groups  of  people 
who  surveyed  her  with  astonished  faces  till  pres- 
ently she  arrived  on  the  steamer's  deck  where 
Lady  Linscombe  stood  holding  a  bouquet  while 
she  bowed  and  smiled  to  the  crowds  on  shore. 

Lord  Linscombe  looked  pityingly  on  the 
child,  but  Lady  Linscombe  knew  it  would  be 
unwise  to  sympathize  too  deeply  with  her,  so 
she  said  quietly :  "  Ah,  good-bye  again,  dear  little 
Gipsy ;  you  have  come  to  tell  me  once  more  that 
you  will  keep  your  promises." 

"  Yes — yes,"  said  Gipsy  confusedly. 

"Will  you  have. some  of  my  flowers?"  said 
her  excellency,  putting  a  few  lovely  lilies  in  the 
child's  hand,  "  and  write  me  a  little  letter  to- 
morrow. Don't  forget  that  we  are  to  see  each 
other  very  soon." 

"I  want  to  go  with  you  now,"  said  Gipsy 
brokenly ;  "  don't  send  me  back,  ex'el'cy,  don't 
send  me  back  ! "  yet  all  the  time  she  was  slowly 
retreating  toward  the  gangway. 

Captain  Dysart  took  her  hand,  for  he  was 
afraid  that  she  would  fall  overboard. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  gasped  Gipsy,  "  this  is  tellible  sad ; 
don't  let  my  dear  ex'el'cy  forget  this  little  girl, 
Cap'en." 


156 


HER  EXCEI*I*ENCY'S  JEWEW 


"You  need  not  fear,"  said  Captain  Dysart; 
"her  excellency  never  forgets.  I  heard  her 
instructing  Miss  Gillespie  to  write  you  to- 
morrow." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Gipsy  breathlessly. 
"Let  go  my  arm,  please,  I  am  going  to  run 
away  and  hide ; "  and  partly  covering  her  face 
with  her  hand  she  turned  her  back  on  the  crowd 
and  hurried  from  the  wharf  to  her  aunt's  cot- 
tage where  she  hid  herself  in  a  closet. 

Gipsy  did  keep  her  promises,  though  with 
some  failures  at  first. 

It  was  hard  work  for  her  to  give  up  telling 
stories ;  many  times  a  day  she  had  to  run  to  her 
room  and  look  at  the  little  illuminated  text  on 
the  wall  tha^  Lady  Linscombe  had  given  to  her, 
"  Thou  God  Seest  Me."  And  she  had  to  fall  in 
the  river  and  nearly  drown  before  she  could 
learn  to  keep  away  from  it.  However,  she 
attended  school  regularly  and  listened  to  her 
aunt's  teaching,  and  before  many  months  had 
gone  by  Gipsy  Leigh  was  a  much  better  child 
than  she  had  been. 

Then  she  had  her  visit  to  Lady  Linscombe  ; 
not  only  one,  but  successive  ones ;  and  in  look- 
ing forward  to  them  Gipsy  was  the  happiest  little 
girl  in  New  Brunswick. 

She  says  that  she  wishes  to  l?ve  with  her 
beloved  patron  when  she  grows  up,  but  Gipsy's 
father  will  probably  wish  her  to  go  to  India  to 
be  his  little  housekeeper. 

Whether  Lcdy  Linscombe  really  knew  the 


HER  EXCELLENCY'S  JEWEW 


157 


lart; 

her 

to- 


truth  or  not  about  the  attempted  robbery  of  her 
diamonds^  no  one  found  out  for  a  long  time. 
She  was  a  very  clever  woman,  but  better  than 
that  she  was  very  charitable,  one  who  tried  to 
love  her  neighbor  as  herself,  and  she  probably 
did  not  think  it  right  to  communicate  her  suspi- 
cions of  Towers'  husband  to  any  one. 

However  she  watched  him  carefully,  and  to 
her  great  joy  saw  that  he  took  pleasure  in  lea<^  • 
ing  an  honest  life,  and  was  not  contented  till  he 
had  earned  enough  money  to  rent  a  small  house 
where  he  could  have  his  faithful  wife  with  him. 

When  they  were  at  last  settled  in  their  little 
home  Towers  could  keep  her  secret  no  longer. 
She  went  to  Lady  lyinscombe  and  confessed  how 
wicked  they  had  both  been  in  attempting  to  rob 
her,  and  how  wrong  in  not  asking  pardon  before. 

"I  suspected  you,"  said  Lad^  Linscombe 
quietly,  "  but  I  forgive  you,  for  I  see  that  you 
have  repented.  You  have  sinned  against  your- 
selves and  against  our  Father  in  heaven  more 
deeply  than  you  have  sinned  against  me.  Have 
you  asked  God  to  forgive  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Towers,  "  we  have  not." 

"  Will  you  do  so  ?  "  asked  Lady  Linscombe. 

"We  will,  we  will,"  said  Towers,  breaking 
down  and  sobbing.  **  I  remember  the  words  in 
the  Bible,  *  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  heaven 
and  in  thy  sight.'  I  will  beg  my  dear  husband 
to  say  them  with  me." 

"For  this  thy  brother  was  dead,"  said  her 
excellency  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  is  alive  again, 
and  was  lost  and  is  found." 


158 


HER  excellency's  JEWELS 


Towers  went  away  and  Lady  Linscombe 
picked  up  a  letter  that  she  had  been  reading. 

"  I  ask  God  to  let  you  live  a  long,  long,  long 
time,  dear  ex'el'cy,"  wrote  Gipsy,  "  till  your  hair 
is  quite,  quite  gray,  and  you  sit  in  a  chair  and 
have  to  let  little  girls  wait  on  you,  'cause  I  love 
you,  and  'cause  you  are  good." 

Her  excellency  put  the  letter  in  her  desk  and 
went  away  smiling  and  murmuring  to  herself, 
"  Diamonds  are  a  snare  and  a  temptation  to 
many — ^men  will  sell  themselves  for  gold ;  faith- 
ful hearts  are  the  best  jewels  in  the  world." 


•--•U^ 


iscombe 
ling, 
ig,  long 
our  hair 
lair  and 
E  I  love 

esk  and 
herself, 
ation  to 
[ ;  faith- 
d." 


J3 


■Ji 

7. 


ii. 


I        - 


^ 


0) 


Si 


VI 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S   DOG 


*ACK,  the  minister's  dog,  was  ill,  and  there 
was  mourning  in  the  village  of  White- 
waters. 

"  I  never  thought  I'd  feel  so  bad  about 
a  dog,"  said  old  Mrs.  Gravy,  as  she  held 
her  apron  to  her  eyes ;  "  and  such  a  bad  dog 
too." 

There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Jack  was  a  bad 
dog ;  that  is,  he  was  a  mischievous  dog ;  but  he 
was  so  bright  and  so  sweet-tempered,  and  often 
so  sorry  for  naughty  things  that  he  had  done, 
that  no  one  really  held  a  grudge  against  him. 
Well,  he  was  ill,  and  every  one  was  sorry. 
"I'll  never  forget  how  kind  he  was  to  Joe," 
went  on  poor  Mrs.  Gravy,  whose  son  had  lately 
died.  "  When  Joe  was  sick,  it  seemed  as  if  that 
dog  knew  he  couldn't  get  well,  for  he'd  come  so 
softly  to  the  door  every  day  and  scratch  for  me 
to  let  him  in  to  lie  on  Joe's  bed." 

"  And  he  didn't  run  off  with  your  dishcloths, 
nor  chew  up  your  cap  strings  till  after  the  fu- 
neral, did  he  ?  "  said  another  old  lady,  called  Mrs. 
Smith,  who  lived  in  the  cottage  next  to  Mrs. 
Gravy's. 

159 


i6o 


JACK,  THE  MINISTBR^S  DOG 


"No;  but  in  a  few  days  he  was  as  bad  as 
ever,  the  young  plague,"  said  Mrs.  Gravy  drying 
her  eyes.  *'  He  teased  me  that  bad  that  I  went 
to  the  minister,  and  what  do  you  think  he  found 
in  his  bed  ?  " 

"  I  don*t  know,"  said  Mrs.  Smith. 

"Two  pairs  of  spectacles,"  said  Mrs.  Gravy, 
counting  on  her  fingers,  "  four  rubber  balls,  two 
sunbonnets,  a  pair  of  braces,  a  ball  of  twine,  a 
lot  of  bones  and  rubbish,  Mamie  lyou  Morrison's 
Sunday  gloves,  three  of  my  towels,  and  my  lace 
cap." 

"  Oh,  the  bad  dog ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Smith. 
"  What  did  the  minister  say  ?  " 

"  He  picked  out  his  best  pair  of  tortoise-shell 
specs  and  put  them  in  his  pocket,  then  he  called 
the  dog." 

"  Did  he  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  bold  as  you  please,  tossing  his  head 
as  much  as  to  say,  *  What's  wanted?'  " 

"  What  did  the  minister  do  ?  " 

"  He  pointed  to  the  box  and  said,  *  Jack,  go 
and  get  a  switch.'  " 

"  He  never  did,  surely  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  the  dog's  no  sneak,  Mrs.  Smith,  you 
know  that.  When  he  came  back,  walking  so 
slow  and  dropping  the  switch  to  jump  up  on  a 
chair  and  hide  his  eyes,  I  said,  *■  Minister,  don't 
you  whip  that  dog.'  " 

"But  he  deserved  it,"  said  Mrs.  Smith 
warmly. 

"  Yes ;  but  my — ^my,  if  you  could  have  seen  his 
eyes  and  heard  him  cry  so  soft  and  touching.    I 


JACK,  THB  MINISTBR'S  DOG 


l6l 


scolded  him,  and  the  minister  scolded  him,  and 
it  hurt  him  as  much  as  a  whipping  would  have 
done.  He*s  only  a  baby,  you  know.  You  can't 
expect  a  dog  a  year  old  to  act  like  an  old  grand> 
father." 

"  What  did  you  do  with  the  things  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Smith. 

"  I  took  mine,  and  Jack  carried  the  rest  home. 
He  knew  just  as  well  as  we  did  where  they  be- 
longed. You  should  have  seen  him  trotting  in 
and  out  taking  the  articles  to  the  different  houses 
as  the  minister  handed  them  to  him.  When  he 
got  through,  he  jumped  up  and  down  and  licked 
our  hands  and  came  home  to  tea  with  me,  and 
all  the  evening  he  lay  by  my  fire  just  as  good  as 
gold." 

"I  wish  he  wouldn't  chase  my  hens,"  said 
Mrs.  Smith. 

"  A  young  dog  must  have  a  bit  of  fun,"  said 
Mrs.  Gravy.  "Never  you  fear,  he'll  not  hurt 
them.    He  likes  to  see  them  run." 

"School  is  out,"  said  Mrs.  Smith.  "How 
quiet  the  children  are." 

The  two  old  ladies  were  leaning  on  their  gar- 
den gates  talking  to  each  other  in  the  pleasant 
summer  sunlight.  Just  beyond  them  was  the 
village  green,  and  beyond  it  again  the  school- 
house  with  its  yard. 

The  children  were  quiet,  there  was  no  mistake 
about  it. 

"They're  grieving  over  the  dog,"  said  Mrs. 
Gravy  suddenly. 

Yes  they  were ;  the  girls  especially.     The  vil- 

L 


l62 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


lage  was  a  small  one.  Everybody  knew  every 
other  body,  and  not  a  boy  or  girl  in  the  village 
but  loved  the  minister  and  Jack,  his  dog. 

No  little  white  form  came  bounding  to  meet 
them  to-day,  and  slowly  and  quietly  the  boys 
and  girls  walked  toward  the  parsonage  and 
tapped  at  the  front  door. 

The  minister  himself  opened  it.  Strangers 
sometimes  when  they  heard  of  Jack's  mischiev- 
ous pranks  asked  why  so  good  a  man  should  live 
with  so  bad  a  dog.  However,  they  asked  no 
more  when  some  one  would  say  in  a  low  voice 
that  Jack  had  belonged  to  the  minister's  lovely 
young  boy,  who  was  now  with  his  mother  an 
angel  in  heaven,  and  no  matter  how  bad  Jack 
was  his  master  could  not  give  him  up. 

"  Yes,  Jack  is  very  ill,"  the  minister  said  to 
the  boys  and  girls.  "  Will  you  come  in  and  see 
him  ?  " 

They  went  into  the  house  after  him  with  as 
little  noise  as  they  could  possibly  make. 

Jack  was  in  the  kitchen  lying  in  his  sleeping- 
box.  He  feebly  wagged  his  tail  when  he  saw  his 
little  friends  and  tried  to  raise  himself,  but  his 
head  fell  down  and  he  closed  his  dull  eyes.  "  I 
would  scarcely  know  him,"  said  Dorothy  Grey 
with  a  sob;  "he — he  looks  so  pale." 

Now  Jack's  head  was  jet  black  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  little  white  about  his  nose  and  a 
snowy  arrow  on  his  forehead ;  but  none  of  the 
children  smiled  when  Dorothy  said  he  looked 
pale.  They  were  shocked  to  see  him  lyin§^  there 
so  still  and  so  unlike  his  usual  livelv  se3*. 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


163 


"  Do  you  think  that  he  will  get  well  ?  "  asked 
George  Thomas  in  an  anxious  voice. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  minister  gravely. 
"  The  doctor  has  been  here  three  times  to-day. 
Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  his  medicines  ?  " 
and  he  handed  two  bottles  and  a  box  of  pills  to 
the  children. 

They  examined  the  bottles  and  the  box  with 
great  interest  and  noticed  that  they  had  on  their 
labels  pictures  of  dogs,  not  lying  ill  like  Jack, 
but  running  fast  as  if  they  were  in  perfect 
health. 

"  Poor  Jack ! "  said  Mamie  Lou  Morrison  in  a 
choked  voice,  "  if  he  does  not  get  well,  I — ^I  shall 
cry,"  and  stooping  over  the  box,  she  laid  her 
head  on  Jack's  little  hot  body  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  asked  one  of 
the  boys  hastily,  for  he  saw  that  all  of  the 
girls  looked  as  if  they  were  going  to  do  as 
Mamie  Lou  was  doing. 

"It  is  disobedience  that  has  made  him  ill," 
said  the  minister  gently  stroking  Mamie  Lou's 
head.  "  I  told  Jack  not  to  go  to  that  heap  of 
rubbish  on  the  common  when  he  wanted  food, 
but  to  content  himself  with  the  good  bread  and 
milk  that  he  gets  at  home.  He  would  not  mind 
me,  and  he  has  stuffed  himself  with  bad  meat 
until  he  now  has  a  fever.  I  think  I  must  send 
you  away.  You  cannot  take  Jack's  disease,  and 
yet  it  is  better  for  you  not  to  be  with  him." 

Looking  sadly  behind  them  the  children  filed 
from  the  room,  while  Jack  starting  up  in  his 


\i 


164 


JACK)  THE  minister's  DOG 


17 

'2' 


box  tried  to  follow  them  but  soon  fell  back 
moaning  with  pain. 

The  next  day  Jack  was  worse — in  fact  he  was 
so  ill  that  the  children  could  not  see  him. 

"  Oh,  minister,  what  shall  we  do  ?  "  said  Doro- 
thy Grey  clasping  her  hands  imploringly. 

She  had  called  at  the  parsonage  on  her  way  to 
school,  and  when  she  found  that  the  little  dog 
that  was  so  dear  a  playmate  of  every  child  in  the 
village  was  probably  dying,  it  seemed  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

"  Won't  he  ever  put  his  little  cunning  head  on 
my  lap  again  ?  "  she  cried  wildly ;  "  won't  he  ever 
coax  me  to  play  with  him? — oh,  minister,  I 
can't  have  Jack  die." 

"  Perhaps  we  have  thought  too  much  of  Jack," 
said  the  minister  sadly. 

"  No,  no,  we  haven't ;  at  least  I  don't  think 
we  have,"  said  Dorothy,  "  for  we  often  get  cross 
with  him.  He  -'s  not  a  perfect  dog.  I  think 
that  is  why  I  love  him  so,"  she  wailed  miser- 
ably, "  'cause  he  is  just  like  me  and  often  forgets 
to  be  good." 

The  minister  stood  holding  the  door  handle 
and  biting  his  lips  as  he  gazed  up  into  the  far 
blue  of  the  sky  where  it  looked  as  if  heaven 
might  be  and  Jack's  little  master. 

"  Minister,"  said  Dorothy  suddenly,  "  you'll 
have  to  'scuse  me  'cause  I'm  going  to  cry  again. 
G —  g —  good-bye,"  and  holding  her  handker- 
chief against  her  face  she  ran  away  toward  the 
schoolhouse. 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S  DOG 


165 


"  Oh,  girls ! "  she  cried  when  she  got  among 
her  playmates ;  then  she  could  say  no  more. 

They  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  her,  and 
putting  their  arms  around  her  without  speak- 
ing went  into  the  school-room  and  took  their 
seats. 

Miss  Lee,  the  teacher,  had  never  had  such  a 
quiet  school-room  since  she  had  come  to  White- 
waters. She  knew  what  was  wrong  and  when 
one  class  after  another  came  up  without  a  whis- 
per or  a  bit  of  noise  she  felt  sorry  for  the  chil- 
dren and  made  up  her  mind  to  let  them  out  of 
school  a  little  earlier  than  usual. 

The  boys  were  not  so  sad  as  the  girls  and  v/ere 
able  to  say  their  lessons,  but  several  of  the  girls 
had  not  remembered  a  word  of  what  they  had 
learned  the  evening  before. 

"  Poor  little  things,  and  poor  little  dog,"  she 
said,  and  raising  the  lid  of  her  desk  she  looked 
at  a  picture  of  herself  and  Jack  taken  only  a 
month  before. 

A  traveling  photographer  had  come  to  the  vil- 
lage and  many  of  the  children  had  had  their  pic- 
tures taken.  Some  of  them  had  tried  to  get 
Jack  to  sit  beside  them  but  he  would  not  do  so, 
and  they  had  begged  Miss  Lee  to  have  him  taken 
with  her.  She  had  talked  soberly  to  him  and 
had  put  a  little  chain  on  his  neck,  and  then  he 
sat  up  like  a  gentleman  and  turned  his  saucy 
face  toward  the  photographer. 

"  Poor  little  dog,"  she  said  again ;  then  she 
;5hut  down  her  desk.  "  Children  you  are  dis- 
missed till  the  afternoon." 


i66 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


The  boys  and  girls  looked  up  in  relief,  and 
quickly  filed  out  of  doors. 

Their  faces  were  mostly  turned  toward  the 
parsonage,  but  they  knew  it  was  of  no  use  to  go 
there,  for  they  could  not  see  Jack  and  would  only 
trouble  the  minister. 

Mamie  Lou  Morrison  drew  some  of  the  little 
girls  aside. 

"  Girls,"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  thought." 

"  What  is  it?  "  they  all  said. 

"  Didn't  teacher  tell  us  last  Sunday  that  if  we 
asked  God  to  do  anything  for  us  he  would  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  it  was  good  for  us,"  said  Jennie  Lyle ; 
"  teacher  said  we  mustn't  ask  for  bad  things." 

"  When  the  rain  didn't  come  this  spring  the 
grown  people  had  a  prayer  meeting,  didn't 
they  ?  "  replied  Mamie  Lou. 

"  Yes,  and  the  rain  came,"  said  Dorothy  joy- 
fully, for  she  saw  what  Mamie  Lou  meant. 

"  Do  we  always  know  what  is  a  right  thing  or 
what  is  a  wrong  thing  to  ask  for?''  said  a  red- 
cheeked  girl  called  Bessie  Bent. 

"  No ;  but  God  does,"  said  Dorothy,  and  her 
face  grew  quite  happy.  "I  remember  now. 
Teacher  said  that  if  we  love  God  and  his  dear 
Son  we  are  his  children  and  we  may  ask  him  for 
anything  we  like." 

"  And  if  the  thing  will  be  good  for  us  we  get 
it,  and  if  it  won't  he  knows  and  won't  let  us 
have  it,"  said  Mamie  Lou,  speaking  very  fast. 

The  girls  clasped  each  other's  hands.  "  Let 
us  have  a  prayer  meeting.  Let  us  go  to  the 
minister,"  they  said  together. 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


167 


ittle 


"  Minister,"  said  Dorothy  suddenly,  when  the 
old  servant  Betsey  opened  the  door  of  the  study 
for  her  and  two  others  of  the  girls,  "  have  you 
asked  God  to  spare  Jack's  life  ?  " 

The  minister  looked  up  from  the  sermon  that 
he  was  writing. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  firmly ;  "  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
say  that  I  have  prayed  that  the  blessing  of  that 
bit  of  animal  life  may  be  continued  to  me." 

"  May  we  help  you  ?  "  inquired  Dorothy  with 
a  radiant  face.  "  Teacher  says  that  God  likes 
his  children  to  pray  together." 

The  minister  looked  as  if  he  did  not  know 
what  to  say. 

"  You  need  not  lead  the  meeting,"  said  Doro- 
thy humbly.  "  We  are  only  little  girls  and  we 
don't  'spect  as  much  attention  as  grown  people." 

"  We  could  go  in  the  woodshed,"  chimed  in 
Mamie  I^ou  eagerly. 

Tears  came  into  the  minister's  eyes, 
dear  children,"  he  said,  "  come  right  in 
and  he  drew  aside  the  curtain  hanging  over  the 
parlor  door. 

■    "  I'll  go  and  get  the  other  girls,"  said  Jennie 
Lyle,  and  she  stepped  out  on  the  veranda. 

Sixteen  children  the  minister  counted  as  they 
passed  into  the  inner  room.  After  giving  them 
a  Bible  and  hymn  books,  and  seeing  that  they 
had  seats  enough,  he  dropped  the  curtain  and 
the3  thought  that  they  were  alone,  though  he 
was  really  listening  to  them. 

They  were  all  girls  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  go  to  church,  to  Sunday-school,  and  to  prayer 


"You 
here," 


^ 


Mttmma 


i68 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


meetings  with  their  parents,  and  though  they 
had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  a  children's 
meeting  they  knew  that  if  they  carried  it  on  as 
the  grown  people  did  theirs  they  could  not  go 
far  astra", 

Dorothy  was  the  one  chosen  as  leader,  and  she 
sat  in  a  big  chair  by  the  window  where  her  feet 
did  not  nearly  touch  the  floor. 

When  the  other  girls  had  all  arranged  them- 
selves before  her  she  opened  her  Bible  and  read 
a  chapter  about  heaven  in  the  Revelation. 

"  I^et  us  pray,"  she  said  when  she  finished  it, 
and  she  scrambled  out  of  her  big  chair  and 
knelt  on  the  floor. 

"  Dear  God  who  loves  little  girls,"  she  began, 
"  I  do  not  know  whether  thou  lettest  little  dogs 
go  to  heaven  or  not,  but  we  would  be  much  hap- 
pier if  we  thought  you  would.  There  is  one 
bad  little  dog  in  this  village  that  is  very,  very  ill. 
We  are  so  unhappy ;  dear  Father  in  heaven  let 
him  live  and  we  will  be  so  thankful.    Make  him 

a  better  dog "  and  she  prayed  on  for  a  long 

time  about  poor,  sick  Jack. 

At  last  she  got  up  and  they  sang  a  hymn. 
On'.-  by  one  after  that  the  childien  took  part  in 
the  meeting.  When  there  was  a  pause  Dorothy 
would  say,  "  Speak  on,  sisters,"  or,  "  You  will 
feel  better  if  you  say  something." 

They  did  not  ask  for  blessings  on  themselves 
or  on  the  heathen — ^they  were  there  to  ask  for 
the  dog's  life,  and  they  did  not  speak  of  any 
other  thing.  After  a  time  all  had  spoken  or 
prayed  but  Tiny  Tybert. 


/ 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


169 


5 


"  Sister,"  said  Dorothy  kindly,  "  you  are  called 
upon  to  say  a  word." 

Tiny  was  an  odd  girl  and  if  she  were  asked 
suddenly  to  do  anything  she  would  often  refuse. 
Dorothy  knew  this  and  had  left  her  till  the  last. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Tiny  willfully. 

"  Yes,  you  can,  sister,"  said  Dorothy. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Tiny. 

"  You  can  do  as  well  as  Dolly  Fuller,"  went 
on  Dorothy ;  "  she  didn't  say  anything  but '  Spare 
the  dog,  good  Lord ' ;  you  may  copy  her  if  you 
like." 

"  I  will  not,"  and  Tiny  pouted. 

"  Don't  you  want  Jack  to  live  ?  "  asked  Doro- 
thy in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tiny,  "  I  do." 

"  Then  say  so,  sister,"  and  Dorothy  smiled  at 
her. 

A  naughty  spirit  came  over  Tiny  and  she  re- 
fused to  open  her  mouth. 

"Will  two  of  the  sisters  put  her  out?"  said 
Dorothy  sadly.  "  We  'spect  every  one  to  take 
part." 

The  minister  drew  back  from  the  curtain  as 
three  little  girls  came  out  of  the  room  and  only 
two  re-entered  it. 

"  I  wish  Dorothy  would  conduct  one  of  my 
meetings,"  he  said  with  a  smile. 

After  having  some  more  hymns  and  prayers 
Dorothy  told  her  companions  that  they  must 
close  their  meeting  as  it  was  nearly  dinner  time 
and  their  mothers  would  be  getting  anxious 
about  them. 


170 


JACK,  THE  MINISTKR^S  DOG 


Placing  herself  by  the  doorway  she  shook 
hands  with  each  girl  as  she  left  the  room  and 
said,  "  The  Lord  bless  you,"  as  she  had  heard  the 
minister  say. 

He  was  waiting  for  them  and  they  eagerly 
asked  him  how  the  dog  was. 

There  had  been  no  change  for  the  better  in 
him  he  said,  but  their  bright  faces  did  not  grow 
anxious. 

"  God  will  hear  us — I  know  he  will.  He  loves 
little  children,"  said  Dorothy  confidently.  "  We 
will  be  back  by-and-by  to  inquire,"  and  nod- 
ding hopefully  to  him  she  trotted  away. 

"  May  God  bless  their  little  faithful  hearts," 
said  the  minister  looking  after  the  girls. 

"  Jack  is  better !  Jack  is  better !  "  called  Doro- 
thy running  into  the  schoolhouse  yard  that  after- 
noon as  the  children  were  coming  out. 

"  The  doctor  says  he  may  get  well.  Oh, 
aren't  you  glad  we  had  the  prayer  meeting  ?  " 

The  beys  and  girls  crowded  around  her.  She 
had  be^n  having  a  half-holiday  as  her  mother 
had  decided  that  she  was  too  much  worried 
about  Jack  to  study. 

"  I've  just  come  from  the  parsonage,"  she  said ; 
"  we  can't  see  him  yet,  'cause  he's  very  weak, 
but  by  to-morrow  or  next  day  mebbe  we  may. 
Oh,  I'm  so  happy,"  and  she  threw  her  arms 
around  Mamie  I^ou's  neck. 

"  Hurrah ! "  cried  one  of  the  boys,  throwing  his 
cap  in  the  air,  "  I'm  glad  too.  Jack's  a  boss  dog. 
We'll  have  some  fun  with  him  yet." 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER*S  DOG 


171 


Down  in  the  parsonage  the  minister  bent  over 
the  dog's  box.  Jack  certainly  was  better  and  as 
his  master  held  a  saucer  of  warm  milk  under  his 
nose  he  lapped  it  feebly. 

When  night  came  the  minister  said  to  his  old 
servant,  Betsey,  "  I  don't  think  that  I  need  to  sit 
up  with  him  to-night." 

"  No,  sir,  I  don't  think  you  do,"  she  replied ; 
"  let  us  give  him  his  medicine  and  then  I  will 
fix  him  comfortably." 

The  minister  took  a  bottle  in  his  hand  and 
pulling  out  the  comer  of  Jack's  lip — for  dogs  do 
not  take  medicine  from  spoons  as  children  do- 
he  poured  it  in  between  his  teeth. 

Then  they  threw  a  little  white  wrap  over  him, 
left  a  night-light  burning  in  the  hall  so  that  he 
would  not  feel  lonely,  and  went  to  bed. 

The  minister  left  his  door  open  so  that  he 
could  hear  Jack  if  he  cried  for  him. 

Just  after  he  had  gotten  into  bed  he  heard  a 
slight  noise  in  the  hall.  He  raised  himself  on 
his  elbow  and  there  coming  toward  him,  the 
white  cloth  over  his  back  making  him  look 
like  a  ghost,  was  Jack,  the  dog  who  had  not 
been  able  to  walk  for  days. 

He  was  very  weak  and  tottered  miserably,  but 
still  he  kept  coming  near,  and  before  the  sur- 
prised minister  could  get  out  of  bed.  Jack  was 
beside  him,  gathering  his  legs  together  and  with 
a  great  effort  springing  up  to  lay  his  head  on  the 
breast  of  his  dearly  loved  master. 

He  was  getting  better  and  he  felt  lonely. 
The  minister  spread  an  old  coat  on  an  arm-chair 


172 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S  DOG 


beside  him  and  putting  Jack  on  it  he  let  him  lie 
there  all  night  and  sleep  like  a  little  weary  dog. 

Oh,  what  rejoicing  there  was  among  the  chil- 
dren the  next  day !  They  jumped  and  shouted 
with  delight,  then  they  went  in  a  body  to  call  on 
their  beloveu  playfellow. 

In  a  week  he  was  able  to  play  with  them  and 
then  the  girls  had  what  they  called  a  praise 
prayer  meeting. 

"  I  wish  to  say  '  Thank  you '  to  God  for  being 
so  good  to  us,"  said  Dorothy  when  some  of  the 
girls  asked  her  why  she  should  pray  when  she 
had  gotten  what  she  wanted. 

Most  of  the  girls  agreed  with  her,  and  they 
had  theii  prayer  meeting. 

Then  they  went  to  Miss  Lee  and  asked  her  if 
Jack  might  not  come  to  the  school  the  next  day. 

She  looked  doubtfully  at  them.  "I  don't 
know  what  to  say  to  that.  I  am  very  fond  of 
Jack,  but  I  scarcely  think  that  school  is  the 
place  for  him.  Remember  what  happened  when 
Mary's  little  lamb  went  to  school." 

"  The  teacher  turned  him  out,"  said  Dorothy ; 
"  but  oh,  Miss  I^ee,  it  is  different  with  Jack.  He 
is  so  fond  of  you.  He  will  be  a  good  dog,  and 
stay  by  your  desk  all  day  and  we  shall  feel  so 
happy  to  have  him  there." 

"  Well,  let  him  come,"  said  Miss  Lee.  "  If  he 
misbehaves  I  can  easily  send  him  home." 

Jack  went  to  school  the  next  day,  and  when 
Miss  Lee  entered  the  room  she  found  him  lying 
demurely  beside  her  chair  with  his  head  on  his 
paws. 


JACK,  THB  minister's  DOG 


^73 


All  the  children  were  in  their  seats,  and  Jack 
looked  as  if  he  knew  he  would  be  turned  out  if 
he  ran  about  the  room.  He  got  up  and  wagged 
his  tail  when  he  saw  her,  then  he  lay  down 
again. 

Strange  to  say,  he  did  not  leave  his  place  dur- 
ing the  whole  morning.  He  remained  perfectly 
quiet,  yet  his  roguish  eye  wandering  from  child 
to  child  in  the  school  seemed  to  fill  each  one 
with  the  spirit  of  mischief,  and  Miss  Lee  re- 
solved that  she  would  never  allow  a  dog  in  the 
school  again. 

Nobody  laughed  or  talked  aloud,  but  she  could 
see  that  all  the  children  were  brimful  of  merri- 
ment. 

She  was  rather  glad  when  any  one  made  a 
joke  during  the  recitations  that  gave  them  an 
excuse  to  laugh  and  so  get  rid  of  some  of  their 
superfluous  animation. 

"  What  is  the  name  by  which  the  Mississippi 
is  sometimes  known  ?  "  she  asked  Mamie  Lou 
Morrison,  in  a  geography  class. 

"  The  father  of  waters,"  said  the  little  girl. 

George  Thomas  who  was  something  of  a  wag 
immediately  put  up  his  hand.  "If  he's  the 
father  of  waters.  Miss  Lee,  why  don't  they  call 
him  Mr.  Sippi  and  not  Mrs.  Sippi  ?  " 

A  laugh  ran  rippling  down  the  class  and  Miss 
Lee  listening  to  it,  laughed  too  and  said,  "I 
shall  bring  that  remark  of  yours  to  the  attention 
of  the  geographers,  George.  Now  let  us  have 
the  first  arithmetic  class.  How  far  did  we  get 
last  day  ?    Who  remembers  ?  " 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sdmoes 

CarparatJon 


23  WBT  MAIN  STRUT 

WltSTM,N.Y.  14SM 

(7U)t7a-4903 


174 


JACK,  THB  minister's  DOG 


I 


I 


"  We  got  as  far  as  the  dismals  in  fractions," 
piped  up  a  little  girl  timidly. 

"  Yes,  the  decimals,"  said  Miss  Lee  paying  no 
heed  to  a  groan  from  George,  and  looking  kindly 
on  the  class  coming  together. 

By  twelve  o'clock  all  were  ready,  for  their 
noon  recess. 

"  My  mouth  just  waters  to  whistle,"  whispered 
George  to  the  boy  next  him,  and  my  legs  feel  as 
if  they  belonged  to  a  jumping  jack." 

"  It  is  the  dog  that  makes  us  feel  so,"  said  the 
lad  addressed ;  ''  he  is  full  of  mischief  ;  look  at 
him  now." 

The  bell  had  rung,  and  Jack  with  a  merry 
bark  and  a  dash  from  the  platform  ran  into  the 
open  air  where  he  knew  he  would  have  a  romp 
with  the  children. 

When  the  boys  and  girls  re-assembled  in  the 
afternoon  Miss  Lee  took  good  care  that  Jack  was 
not  among  them.  The  school  was  more  orderly 
than  it  had  been  in  the  morning  and  at  three 
o'clock  when  some  one  knocked  at  the  door 
there  was  scarcely  a  sound  to  be  heard. 

It  was  the  minister,  and  he  had  come  as  he 
often  did  to  give  the  children  a  walk  after 
school.  Sometimes  they  studied  botany  and 
sometimes  they  simply  went  for  a  ramble 
through  the  woods. 

To-day  the  minister  was  going  to  see  some 
parishioners  who  lived  close  to  a  butternut 
grove,  and  knowing  that  some  of  the  children 
might  like  to  go  with  him  he  had  called  for 
them. 


JACK,  THE   MINISTER'S  DOG 


175 


)) 


"I  think  they  may  all  go,"  said  Miss  Lee, 
"except  Tom  and  Harry,"  and  she  looked 
gravely  toward  two  little  boys  who  were  so  much 
alik^  that  scarcely  any  one  but  their  mother 
could  tell  them  apart. 

They  were  twins  and  a  pair  of  handsome  lads. 
At  their  teacher's  words  they  both  dropped  their 
heads  and  blushed. 

"  I  can't  think  that  the  twins  would  be  un- 
kind enough  to  annoy  you,  Miss  Lee,"  said  the 
minister. 

"  They  have,"  said  Miss  Lee.  "  Come  here, 
boys." 

The  two  lads  sidling  up  against  each  other 
left  their  seats  and  stood  out  on  the  floor  before 
the  whole  school. 

"  I  was  going  to  keep  them  in,"  said  Miss  Lee, 
"but  I  see  that  I  cannot  punish  them  better 
than  by  telling  you  of  their  misdeed." 

Both  boys  lifted  their  heads  and  looked  ap- 
pealingly  at  her  and  she  relented. 

"  No,  I  shall  not,"  she  added  hastily ;  "  I  will 
forgive  you  both  if  you  will  give  me  your  word 
of  honor  never  to  do  such  a  thing  again." 

Their  faces  brightened.  "  We  will,"  they  said 
together ;  then  they  wheeled  around  and  went  to 
their  seats. 

Miss  Lee  looked  after  them  with  a  relieved 
face  and  yet  a  puzzled  one.  "  They  are  usually 
very  good  boys,"  she  said  to  the  minister.  "  It 
is  most  singular  that  they  should  have  done  what 
they  did  to-day." 

"  A  singular  thing,"  muttered  George  Thomas 


176 


JACK,  THB  minister's  DOG 


to  the  boy  next  him ;  "  it  is  very  plural.  They 
have  often  done  it  before,  but  I  am  not  going  to 
tell  on  them." 

One  of  the  twins  jumped  up.  "  Miss  Lee,  it 
was  the  house-warning  that  made  us  do  it." 

"The  house-warning?  I  do  not  understand," 
said  the  teacher. 

"  We  moved  in  our  new  house  yesterday,  you 
know,"  continued  the  boy,  "  and  we  had  a  party 
in  the  evening,  and  Tom  can't  study  as  fast  as  I 
can,  so  I  told  him  I  would  recite  for  him  to-day." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Miss 
Lee ;  "  you  had  a  house-warming." 

"  And  Harry  being  bright  and  Tom  being  dull, 
and  both  looking  as  much  alike  as  two  boys  pos- 
sibly could,  one  of  them  has  been  saying  his 
lessons  and  returning  to  his  seat  and  then  saying 
them  over  again  for  the  other  boy,"  said  the  min- 
ister to  himself;  "and  bless  their  little  hearts, 
they  still  think  I  do  not  understand." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  explained,"  said 
Miss  Lee,  and  she  looked  kindly  at  them. 

The  twins  had  not  particularly  tender  con- 
sciences, but  something  had  touched  them  to- 
day ;  whether  it  was  the  presence  of  the  minister 
or  not  Miss  Lee  could  not  tell.  They  blushed 
still  more,  fidgeted  and  wriggled  about  on  their 
seats,  and  finally,  Tom,  the  dull  one,  rose  and 
blurted  out  penitently,  "  We  have  sneaked  before. 
Miss  Lee,  lots  of  times,  but  we  will  not  do  so 
again." 

Miss  Lee  looked  exceedingly  surprised ;  then 
seeing  that  both  boys  were  heartily  sorry  and 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


1/7 


They 
ing  to 

tand," 

y,  you 
,  party 
St  as  I 
)-day." 
Miss 

g  dull, 
yspos- 
ng  his 
saying 
le  min- 
hearts, 

I,"  said 

er  con- 
lem  to- 
linister 
)lushed 
in  their 
)se  and 
before, 
t  do  so 

I;  then 
rry  and 


ashamed  of  themselves,  she  said :  "  I  will  trust 
you  now  that  you  have  given  me  your  word. 
Children  you  are  dismissed." 

All  the  boys  and  girls  filed  out  of  the  school- 
room and  ran  home  to  ask  permission  of  their 
parents  to  accompany  their  beloved  minister  on 
his  walk. 

Jack  was  waiting  outside,  and  when  he  saw 
them  coming  he  ran  about  barking  and  tossing 
his  head  and  acting  as  if  he  were  crazy  with  de- 
light. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  minister  moved 
down  the  street  at  the  head  of  a  joyful  band  of 
boys  and  girls. 

Dorothy,  who  was  perhapsjhe  minister's  most 
ardent  admirer,  trotted  close  beside  him  as  they 
passed  down  the  sidewalk  under  the  spreading 
tree  branches. 

"  Minister,  what  makes  you  so  good  to  little 
children  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  up  at  him.  "  Is 
it  because  around  the  throne  of  God  ten  thou- 
sand children  stand  ?  " 

The  minister  put  out  his  hand  to  take  her  tiny 
brown  one.  "  Yes,  Dorothy,  perhaps  it  is ;  I  have 
a  little  boy  there,  you  know." 

"  Minister,  what  is  the  difference  of  an  e-gull 
to  a  sea-gull  ?  "  chimed  in  a  tiny  child  elbowing 
his  way  among  the  throng  of  girls  about  the 
tall  man. 

Away  above  them  a  large  eagle  was  making 
his  way  to  a  distant  mountain.  The  minister 
stopped,  and  gathering  the  children  about  him, 
pointed  up  to  the  majestic  bird  and  told  them  of 

M 


178 


JACK,  THB   MINISTER'S  DOG 


the  manner  in  which  she  builds  her  nest  and 
rears  her  young,  and  then  drawing  a  piece  of 
paper  and  a  pencil  from  his  pocket  he  sketched 
a  picture  of  some  of  the  beautiful  white-winged 
gulls  that  he  said  lived  near  the  sea  and  rarely 
came  as  far  inland  as  they  were. 

While  the  minister  was  talking  to  the  chil- 
dren Jack  was  getting  himself  into  trouble. 

Two  men  and  a  dog  and  a  flock  of  sheep  had 
come  along  the  road  on  their  way  to  the  village. 
One  man  was  in  the  lead,  and  the  sheep  guarded 
by  the  collie  were  following  him.  The  other 
man  drove  a  cart  behind  them  in  which  was  an 
invalid  sheep.  The  collie  had  a  very  great  care 
of  the  sick  sheep  and  itvery  few  minutes  would 
leave  the  flock  to  see  how  it  was  getting  on. 

When  Jack  saw  the  sheep  coming  he  thought 
that  here  was  a  fine  chance  to  play,  and  running 
in  among  them  he  scattered  them  to  the  right 
and  the  left. 

The  collie  threw  him  a  contemptuous  glance 
and  tried  to  drive  him  away.  The  minister  see- 
ing what  trouble  Jack  was  giving,  hastily  thrust 
his  paper  and  pencil  into  his  pocket  and  whistled 
to  him. 

Jack  came  to  him  rather  reluctantly  and  while 
the  girls  were  saying  "  Naughty  Jack,"  the  boys 
busied  themselves  in  helping  the  patient  collie 
to  reassemble  the  frightened  sheep. 

When  they  were  all  in  order  and  the  cloud  of 
dust  kicked  up  by  the  many  little  hoofs  was  dis- 
appearing in  the  distance  the  collie  came  running 
back. 


JACK,  THE   minister's  DCX> 


179 


"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  forgotten  something," 
said  Mamie  hou  Morrison. 

The  minister  watched  the  big  dog  with  in- 
terest. He  came  right  up  to  lively,  rollicking 
Jack  and  fixing  his  teeth  in  the  back  of  his  neck 
carried  him  for  a  little  distance  in  the  road. 

The  girls  all  shrieked,  "  Oh,  he  is  going  to  kill 
him,  the  bad  dog;  drive  him  away." 

The  minister  laughed  and  seizing  a  stick  ran 
after  the  collie  who  was  shaking  Jack  and  rolling 
him  over  and  over  in  the  dust.  Jack  was  taking 
his  punishment  like  a  brave  dog. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  said  George  Thomas  ex- 
citedly, "  Jack  made  the  collie  mad  by  disturb- 
ing the  sheep — the  collie  had  not  time  to  punish 
him  then,  but  he  came  back  to  do  it." 

"  It  takes  a  good  while  to  take  the  puppy 
nature  out  of  a  dog,"  said  the  minister  smiling 
at  poor  discomfited  Jack,  who  ran  to  hide  him- 
self among  the  girls. 

"  And  it  takes  a  good  while  for  some  boys  and 
girls  to  stop  being  like  puppies,"  said  Dorothy 
Grey  in  an  undertone,  as  she  stooped  down  to  pet 
Jack;  "  I  hate  to  see  dogs  whip  you,  Jackie." 

The  little  animal  licked  her  hand  and  walked 
close  beside  her  as  the  straggling  band  of  children 
suddenly  turned  from  the  road  and  went  through 
a  long  green  alley  leading  to  a  picturesque  but 
tumble-down  cottage  situated  in  a  grove  of  beau- 
tiful butternut  trees. 

An  old  man  in  a  green  coat  sat  on  the  door- 
step of  the  cottage,  his  hand  resting  on  the  collar 
of  an  old  black  dog.     At  the  approach  of  the 


i8o 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


little  party  they  both  got  up.  The  old  dog 
soon  smelled  Jack  out  and  wagging  hie  tail 
touched  his  muzzle  politely,  while  Jack,  mindful 
of  his  late  experience,  was  careful  to  be  polite  in 
his  turn  and  do  nothing  to  annoy  his  host. 

The  old  man  shook  hands  with  the  minister 
and  opening  his  eyes  wide  at  the  sight  of  the  boys 
and  girls  exclaimed,  **  Dear  me,  what  a  fine  batch 
of  children  I " 

"  May  they  have  some  of  your  nuts  ?  "  shouted 
the  minister  in  the  old  man's  ear. 

"Certainly,  sir,  certainly,"  and  the  old  man 
turned  to  the  boys  and  girls  who  were  looking 
curiously  at  him.  "  I  am  deaf,  my  little  dears, 
deaf  as  one  of  those  butternuts ;  and  my  sister  is 
deaf,  and  the  dog  is  deaf,  and  we  are  just  like 
three  barbarians." 

"My  grandpa  is  deaf,"  said  Mamie  Lou 
Morrison,  standing  on  tiptoe  to  reach  the  old 
man's  ear ;  "  but  I  love  him  just  the  same." 

The  shrill  little  voice  made  itself  heard  and 
the  old  man  nodded  approvingly  at  her  "  A  good 
child,  my  dear ;  I  wish  I  was  your  grandfather." 

"How  are  the  squirrels  getting  on,  Mr. 
White?"  called  the  minister. 

"  Oh,  smartly,  sir,  smartly ;  they  are  tamer  than 
ever.  They  run  over  my  bed  in  the  morning 
and  wake  me  up." 

The  minister  turned  to  the  children.  "  These 
trees  are  full  of  squirrels  and  they  are  Mr.  White's 
pets.  He  never  allows  any  one  to  throw  stones 
at  them  nor  shoot  them  and  they  have  confidence 
in  him." 


JACK,  THB  MINISTER'S  DOO 


X8l 


"There  is  no  child  here  that  would  rob  a 
squirrePs  hoard  is  there?"  said  Mr.  White  in  his 
melancholy,  far-away  voice  that  he  could  not 
hear  himself. 

The  children  wagged  their  heads  so  violently 
that  it  seemed  as  if  they  must  shake  them  off. 

"That  is  right,"  said  the  old  man.  "Now 
come  along  and  I  will  show  you  the  best  trees," 
and  he  led  the  way  around  the  comer  of  the 
house.  "  Do  you  know  what  this  is  ?  "  he  asked, 
stopping  suddenly  and  scraping  on  the  ground 
with  his  foot. 

A  heap  of  nuts  lay  among  the  earth  and  leaves. 

"  It  is  a  squirrel's  store  of  nuts,"  exclaimed 
the  children. 

"Why  do  they  put  them  here?"  asked  the 
old  man. 

Some  of  the  children  answered  him,  but  he  did 
not  hear  them  and  so  he  went  on :  "  The  saucy 
fellows  run  up  the  trees,  bite  off  the  nuts,  then  run 
down  a^ain  and  draw  earth  over  them  to  soften 
the  outside  rind.  After  a  while  they  gnaw  it  off, 
for  the  squirrels  put  their  nuts  in  heaps  and  this 
rind  would  mould  if  they  left  it  on.  When  I 
gather  nuts  I  leave  the  rind  on,  but  ^  -oread  them 
out  and  keep  turning  them.  Now,  y  ang  people, 
help  yourselves." 

The  boys  went  swarming  up  the  tree  trunks 
and  the  girls  ran  hither  and  thither,  laughing 
and  talking  and  occasionally  falling  down  in 
their  haste  to  pick  up  the  nuts,  while  the  min- 
ister sat  on  a  grassy  knoll  and  talked  to  the  old 
man. 


i8a 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


By  and  by  some  of  the  girls  got  tired  and 
came  and  sat  down  beside  them. 

"  I  see  little  squirrels  peeping  at  us  f  lom  the 
branches"  said  Jennie  Lyle;  aren't  they  cun- 
ning, minister  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are;  and  if  we  were  not  here  they 
would  be  running  all  over  Mr.  White  and  teasing 
this  old  dog." 

"  Why  do  they  tease  the  dog  ?  "  asked  Tiny 
Tybert. 

"  Just  to  amuse  themselves.  The  last  time  I 
was  here  I  was  in  the  house  talking  to  Miss 
White,  and  from  the  window  I  watched  two 
squirrels  running  to  and  from  their  nest,  which 
is  in  that  old  stable  behind  the  house.  They 
were  carrying  cedar  berries  to  it  for  winter 
use,  and  for  a  time  they  worked  very  busily, 
passing  and  re-passing  each  other.  Then  they 
stopped  and  looking  mischievously  at  each  other 
seemed  to  say,  Let  us  have  some  fun.  Rover  was 
lying  asleep  on  the  doorstep,  and  running 
quickly  up  to  him  they  chirped  loudly.  I  don't 
think  he  could  have  heard  them,  as  he  is  so  deaf, 
but  lazily  opening  his  eyes  he  saw  them  and 
looked  as  if  he  wanted  to  say,  *  It  is  a  warm  day, 
don't  bother  me.' " 

"  And  then  what  did  they  do  ?  "  asked  Tiny 
eagerly. 

"  They  scampered  back  and  forth  before  him 
and  at  last  began  to  run  over  his  tail  and  then 
he  too  began  to  scamper,  and  picking  himself 
up  jumped  to  and  fro,  barking  wildly  and  trying 
to  catch  them;  of  course  he  could  not  do  so. 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOO 


183 


One  of  them  ran  inside  of  that  pump,  where  he 
could  not  get  at  him,  and  the  other  took  refuge 
on  this  little  sapling  and  slipped  up  and  down 
the  stem  as  Rover  advanced  or  retreated.  The 
poor  old  dog  barked  himself  nearly  hoarse  and 
Miss  White  went  out  and  drove  the  squirrels 


)) 


away 

"  There  is  something  the  matter  with  the  old 
man,"  said  Dorothy  Grey,  suddenly  running  up. 
"  Do  come  to  him,  minister." 

A  young  man  carrying  an  ax  over  his 
shoulder  had  a  few  minutes  previous  come  out 
of  the  ramshackle  old  barn  behind  the  house  and 
roared  a  few  sentences  in  Mr.  White's  ear. 

"  Just  look  at  him,"  said  Dorothy,  "  the  poor 
old  man  ;  he  is  flinging  his  arms  about  and  tear- 
ing his  coat." 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  the  minister 
hurrying  to  the  two  men. 

"  It  is  the  colt,  the  colt,  sir,"  said  Mr.  White 
in  his  hollow  voice;  "he.  has  been  gone  for 
hours  and  I  have  only  just  found  it  out.  I  should 
have  looked  after  him  myself." 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,"  the  young  man  called  in 
his  ear ;  "  it  is  your  old  broken  fences  that  are  to 
blame." 

"  Rover,"  said  Mr.  White  stooping  down  and 
putting  his  mouth  to  the  ear  of  the  old  dog  who 
stood  watchfully  beside  him,  "  Tiny  is  lost." 

The  dog  looked  up,  wagged  his  tail  and  looked 
as  if  he  understood  him. 

"  Where  was  the  colt  when  you  last  saw  him, 
Joseph  ?  "  asked  the  minister  of  the  young  man. 


i84 


JACK,  THB  MINISTBR^S  DOO 


"  Up  in  the  big  pasture,  sir ;  he  has  been  run- 
ning with  the  cattle  the  last  few  days." 

"  And  what  makes  you  think  that  something 
has  happened  to  him  ?  " 

**  Because  the  cattle  came  home  long  ago  and 
when  I  went  after  him  and  called  he  did  not 
answer  me  nor  come.  I  guess  he  is  stolen  or 
else  in  trouble.  I  am  just  setting  off  to  find 
out." 

"Minister,  can't  we  go  and  help  Mr.  White 
look  for  the  little  colt  ?  "  exclaimed  Mamie  Lou 
eagerly. 

The  minister  smiled  at  her  and  was  just  about 
to  reply  when  Miss  White — a  neat  little  old  lady 
carrying  a  basket  on  her  arm — came  hurrying  up 
the  long  alley. 

She  threw  up  her  hands  when  she  saw  the 
minister  and  the  children  and  hastened  to  greet 
them  and  say  that  she  was  so  sorry  to  be  away 
from  home  when  they  arrived.  Then  seeing  by 
her  brother's  face  t^at  he  was  in  trouble  she 
asked  for  an  explanation. 

The  brother  spoke  in  her  ear,  then  she  spoke 
in  his  and  in  the  ear  of  the  dog,  who  seemed  to 
be  an  important  member  of  the  family,  and  all 
the  g^rls  and  the  boys  who  had  come  scrambling 
down  from  the  trees  stood  about  and  listened  and 
looked  on  sympathetically. 

"  Poor  little  colt,  poor  little  colt,  I  am  just 
most  dreadfully  sorry  for  him,  minister,"  mur- 
mured Dorothy. 

"  He  is  not  a  little  colt,"  said  the  minister ; 
"he  is  a  big  handsome  animal,  two  or  three 


JACK,  THB  minister's  DOO 


185 


I 


years  old.  Mr.  White  was  planning  to  sell  him 
this  autumn  and  get  enough  money  to  carry  him 
and  his  sister  through  the  winter.  They  have 
not  much  of  an  income  and  if  anything  has 
happened  to  this  animal  it  will  be  a  serious 
loss." 

"  Let  us  go  and  look  for  him  at  once,"  said 
Dorothy.     **  See ;  the  man  is  starting." 

"  Yes,  yes,  let  us  go,"  echoed  all  the  other 
boys  and  girls. 

"Now,  I  think,"  said  the  minister,  "that 
while  the  boys  may  go,  it  will  be  more  suitable 
and  more  restful  for  the  little  girls  to  stay  here 
with  Miss  White  than  to  accompany  us  in 
tramping  over  rough  pasture  land." 

The  girls'  faces  fell  and  Mamie  I/)U  murmured 
dejectedly,  "  I  s'pose  you're  right,  minister,  you 
always  are ;  but  I  want  to  go  terribly." 

The  minister  was  speaking  to  Miss  White. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  she  replied  in  a  voice 
just  like  her  brother's.  "Let  them  come  in 
the  house,  and  I  will  give  them  some  cake  and 
milk." 

"  We  shall  soon  be  back,"  said  the  minister, 
and  he  hurried  after  Mr.  White  and  the  man 
while  the  girls  stood  in  a  sober  group  and 
watched  them. 

"Jack,"  said  the  minister  to  his  small  dog, 
who  was  running  to  and  fro  and  looking  very 
wise,  "  I  wonder  whether  you  understand  this  ? 
Do  you  know  that  the  big  browtj  animal  you 
were  chasing  the  other  day  is  missing  ?  See,  he 
lived  in  there,"  and  the  minister  pointed  to  the 


i86 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S  DOG 


dilapidated  stable ;  "  try  to  find  him,  and  cover 
yourself  with  glory." 

Jack  leaped  up  and  licked  his  hand,  then  went 
scurrying  in  wide  circles  around  him. 

"He  has  caught  the  idea  that  we  are  after 
something,"  said  the  minister,  "  but  whether  he 
knows  what  it  is  or  not  is  another  thing." 

The  boys  liked  the  excitement  of  looking  for 
the  colt,  and  plied  Joseph  with  questions  until 
they  separated  into  different  bands  at  the  pasture 
gate  and  began  a  systematic  search  of  the  wide 
extent  of  land  before  them. 

Away  at  the  back  of  the  pasture  were  some 
boggy  holes  from  which  mud  had  been  taken  for 
fertilizing  purposes. 

"I  am  afeared  he's  got  into  one  of  them," 
muttered  Joseph  to  himself,  as  with  the  foremost 
band  of  boys  he  worked  slowly  toward  this 
spot. 

Just  then  an  excited  howling  and  barking  was 
heard  from  Jack,  who  kept  always  a  little  in  ad- 
vance. 

"  Hello,  what  is  that  ?  do  you  suppose  Jack 
has  struck  a  porcupine  ?  "  said  one  of  the  twins. 

"I  guess  a  porcupine  has  struck  him,  by  the 
noise  he  is  making,"  said  George  Thomas. 
"Let  us  hurry  up  and  see.  Those  quills  are 
hateful  things  to  get  out." 

"And  I  guess  he's  found  the  colt,"  said 
Joseph  ;  "he's  a  pretty  cute  dog,  and  I  thought 
he  mistrustecj  what  we  were  after." 

"  Hooray  for  him,  if  he  has,"  said  George,  and 
followed  by  the  boys  he  dashed  through  the  in- 


JACK,  THE  minister's  dog 


187 


»» 


tervening  shrubbery  and  came  in  sight  of  a  low, 
marshy  place  where  Jack  stood  on  a  stump 
barking  so  violently  that  his  fore  paws  were 
lifted  from  the  stump  every  time  he  opened  his 
mouth. 

"  Tiny,  Tiny,  Tiny,"  called  Joseph  letting  his 
voice  rise  and  fall  in  a  peculiar  way. 

A  pitiful  whinny  seemed  to  come  from  the 
ground  beneath  them,  and  there,  half  hidden  by 
a  clump  of  rushes,  was  the  colt  in  one  of  the 
larger  mud  holes. 

His  beautiful  eyes  were  fixed  appealing  on 
them,  his  hind  legs  were  sunk  in  the  soft  black 
earth,  his  fore  legs  were  on  solid  ground,  and  his 
head  was  laid  on  the  bank  as  if  he  was  tired. 

The  boys  set  up  a  shouting  that  soon  brought 
the  other  members  of  the  party  to  the  spot 

Mr.  White  stroked  his  favorite's  head  gently. 
Then  he  put  his  ear  close  to  the  minister. .  "  He 
is  hoarse  from  whinnying,"  he  said  eagerly, 
"  isn't  he  ?  He  must  have  been  here  for  some 
hours." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  minister  sympathetically,  "  the 
poor  creature's  voice  is  quite  hoarse." 

Joseph  had  thrown  down  his  ax  and  was 
busily  engaged  in  putting  a  coil  of  rope  that  he 
had  brought  with  him  around  the  colt's  body  and 
neck.  Soon  he  had  it  ready  for  them  all  to  grasp 
and  the  boys,  the  minister,  and  Mr.  White 
pulled  as  hard  as  they  could  in  order  to  raise  the 
unhappy  animal  from  his  bed  of  mud. 

Tiny  understood  perfectly  what  they  were 
doing,  and  with  a  grateful  whinny  braced  his  fore 


1 88 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S  DOG 


legs  firmly  against  the  edge  of  the  bank  under 
the  impression  that  he  was  helping  them. 

"  Let  go,"  said  Joseph.  "  We  shall  never  get 
him  out  this  way." 

The  rope  fell  from  their  hands  and  with  some 
assistance  from  the  minister  and  the  boys 
Joseph  unwound  it  from  the  colt's  body  and 
neck  and  fastened  it  firmly  around  his  legs. 

Then  they  all  pulled  again,  and  this  time  they 
got  him  out.  He  had  been  in  the  hole  so  long 
and  was  so  weak  from  struggling  that  he  stag- 
gered when  he  found  himself  once  more  on 
solid  ground,  and  a  nervous  tremor  ran  all  over 
the  velvety  brown  body  usually  so  handsome 
but  now  encrusted  with  mud. 

"  Come,"  said  Joseph  leading  the  way,  and  after 
a  preliminary  shake  and  a  glance  at  the  chatter- 
ing boys  about  him  the  colt  soberly  walked 
toward  his  stable. 

Not  the  least  happy  member  of  the  party  was 
Jack.  He  ran  from  one  boy  to  another,  getting 
words  of  praise  that  he  loved  so  well,  and 
listened  to  the  "good  dog"  and  "clever  dog" 
showered  upon  him. 

Old  Rover,  who  had  wished  to  find  the  colt 
but  who  had  not  been  able  to  do  so,  walked 
sulkily  beside  his  master  and  cast  envious 
glances  at  Jack  from  time  to  time. 

Mr.  White  looked  often  and  anxiously  at  the 
colt.  "  He  will  be  some  time  getting  over  this," 
he  said ;  "  such  a  mishap  takes  the  strength  out 
of  an  animal,  particularly  a  young  one." 

"  He  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  days,"  said  the 


JACK,  THE  MINISTER'S  DOG 


189 


minister  cheerily.  "  If  he  is  not,  I  will  see  that 
you  are  not  a  loser." 

"  May  God  bless  you,  sir,"  murmured  Mr. 
White;  "you  have  had  trouble  in  your  own 
heart  and  you  know  what  it  is,"  and  he  watched 
the  minister  gratefully  as  he  threw  off  his  coat 
when  they  reached  the  stable  and  helped  Joseph 
wash  and  blanket  the  exhausted  animal,  who 
turned  his  head  miserably  from  the  nice  feed  of 
oats  offered  to  him. 

Then  came  something  very  interesting  to  the 
boys — the  heating  of  water  and  the  administering 
of  a  big  bottle  of  medicine  to  the  colt.  Joseph 
held  his  head  and  the  minister  pulling  his  lips 
far  back  poured  the  mixture  in  the  side  of  his 
mouth  while  Mr.  White  rubbed  his  throat. 

*'  Now  let  us  go  to  the  house,'*  said  the  min- 
ister when  the  colt  was  finally  led  into  his  stall. 
"  The  little  girls  will  be  anxious  to  hear  about 
this,  and  then  we  must  get  them  home  to  their 
mothers." 


Early  the  next  morning  Mr.  White  was  very 
much  flattered  to  find  a  delegation  of  school 
children  at  his  gate  inquiring  about  the  sick 
colt. 

"  Better,  better ;  bless  your  little  hearts,"  he 
said.  "  I  was  up  with  him  nearly  all  night ;  but 
he  improved  so  fast  there  was  really  no  need  of 
it  What  makes  you  little  ones  so  fond  of  ani- 
mals ?  " 

"  We  learn  about  them  in  school,"  said  Tiny 
Tybert  in  the  old  man's  ear.     "  Miss  Lee  says 


190 


JACK,  THB  MINISTBR'S  DOG 


that  if  we  are  kind  to  dumb  animals  we  shall  be 
kind  to  each  other." 

"  She  is  right,  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  White. 
"  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  tender- 
hearted children  in  my  life.  I  noticed  how  you 
played  with  each  other  yesterday — ^as  gentle  as 
lambs,  as  gentle  as  lambs.  How  is  the  pretty 
little  dog  that  found  my  colt  ?  " 

Dorothy  made  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of 
the  village,  and  said,  "  We  have  not  seen  him 
this  morning,  the  minister  keeps  him  shut  up 
till  after  school  *cause  he  wants  to  go  too." 

"  He  is  usually  a  very  obedient  dog,  though," 
said  Mamie  Lou  anxiously ;  *^  and  I  am  sure  he 
will  grow  to  be  almost  a  perfect  dog  some  day. 
He  is  a  great  comfort  to  the  minister." 

"  Yes,  yes,  he  is  a  fine  little  dog,  and  he  will 
grow  finer,"  said  Mr.  White.  "  Bring  him  up 
again,  won^t  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  the  girls  all  together.; 
"  now  we  must  go.  Thank  you  for  telling  us 
about  the  colt,"  and  like  a  flock  of  fairies  they 
vanished  down  the  green  alley. 

The  old  man  stood  looking  thoughtfully  after 
them.  "  In  my  day  there  was  not  much  made 
of  this  business  of  kindness  ;  but  I  see  that  it  is 
going  to  make  the  world  better." 

"Brother,  you  look  as  if  you  were  saying 
something,"  said  Miss  White  coming  out  on  the 
doorstep  and  putting  her  head  close  to  his,  so 
that  he  might  communicate  his  thought  to  her. 
"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Only  this,  and  it  is  pretty  important  too," 


JACK,  THE  minister's  DOG 


191 


said  the  old  man  in  her  ear ;  ^*  that  if  you  can  get 
religion  and  kindness  to  go  hand  and  hand 
through  this  world  we  are  not  far  from  the  king- 
dom of  heaven." 

*^  Religion  and  kindness,"  said  the  old  lady 
nodding  her  head;  ''that  is  a  good  thought, 
brother,  a  very  good  thought." 


too," 


VII 
THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


KAI.OOSA  THE  FIRST 

f ALOOSA  the  first  was  a  young  Indian 
girl  with  long,  straight  black  hair, 
a  dark  slcin,  and  liquid  eyes ;  and  she 
lived  many  years  ago  in  the  forests  of 
Nova  Scotia. 
The  Indians  were  quite  happy  in  those  days. 
They  did  not  feel  the  cold  in  winter  for  they  en- 
camped in  the  dense  forests  where  the  wind 
could  not  reach  them  and  they  kept  good  fires 
and  wrapped  themselves  in  the  skins  of  animals 
that  they  had  killed.  During  the  summer  they 
had  fine  times  tramping  over  the  country  and 
paddling  about  on  the  rivers  and  lakes  in  their 
bark  canoes. 

Kaloosa^s  father,  Ababejit,  was  chief  of  the 
Micmacs,  a  tribe  that  boasted  that  they  were  the 
strongest  and  bravest  of  all  the  Indian  race. 

One  June  afternoon  in  this  long  time  ago, 
when  Ababejit  had  his  encampment  near  the 
mouth  of  a  river,  he  came  home  from  hunting, 
and  sticking  his  lance  in  a  tree  turned  to  enter 
his  wigwam  wondering  that  no  young  daughter 
193 


a 


'A 
3 

rf- 

O 

sr 

o 
c 


3" 


I 


ig  Indian 
ack  hair, 
;  and  she 
forests  of 

lose  days. 
>r  they  en- 
the  wind 
good  fires 
)f  animals 
imer  they 
untry  and 
s  in  their 

ief  of  the 
y  were  the 
a  race, 
time  ago, 
t  near  the 
1  hunting, 
d  to  enter 
g  daughter 


V. 


a 

0 

c 


3" 

s- 

a. 


3; 


c 

f( 

h 

n 

si 

b 

r< 

li 

n 

b 

"^ 

t 

g 

d 

tl 

yi 

n 

"W 

SN 

d( 

^K 

le 

A 

Ii 

d] 

Pl 

\ 

THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


193 


came  running  to  meet  him,  pressing  her  dark 
face  to  his  "  Utkuncheeju  "—dear  little  mouth 
— and  asking  him  what  luck  he  had  had  in  the 
forest. 

He  saw  his  wife  or  squaw  busy  with  a  pot 
hung  over  the  fire  where  she  was  preparing  a 
meal  for  him ;  but  he  did  not  speak  to  her,  and 
striding  into  the  wigwam  he  sat  down  at  the 
back  of  it  in  the  place  of  honor. 

The  outside  of  the  wigwam  was  covered  with 
rows  of  bark  to  keep  out  the  rain.  Inside  was  a 
lining  of  spruce  boughs,  and  on  the  ground  were 
more  boughs  that  took  the  place  of  carpets  and 
beds.  A  bear  skin,  that  hung  over  the  doorway, 
was  pulled  aside  and  Ababejit,  looking  out  on  a 
green  meadow  and  a  running  river,  still  won- 
dered where  Kaloosa  was. 

Presently  some  one  stepped  between  him  and 
the  lovely  picture  framed  by  the  wigwam  door- 
way. A  tall  black-haired  youth,  one  of  his 
nephews,  stood  before  him. 

"  Kutakumagual  upchelase,"  said  Ababejit, 
which  meant,  *'  Come  to  the  back  of  the  wig- 


wam. 


>» 


The  young  man  stepped  over  the  place  by  the 
doorway,  which  was  devoted  to  the  use  of  the 
women  and  children,  and  seated  himself  cross- 
legged  by  his  uncle. 

He  had  come  to  find  out  how  many  animals 
Ababejit  had  killed  that  day;  but  it  was  not 
Indian  etiquette  to  ask  questions  and  his  uncle 
did  not  seem  inclined  to  talk.  An  adroit  com- 
pliment at  last  loa^^icned  the  chief's  tongue. 


N 


194 


THB  TWO  KAUX>SAS 


"  The  wise  men  of  the  tribe  say,"  remarked 
the  young  man,  "  that  the  great  Sachem,  Ababe- 
jit,  who  lived  many  moons  ago,  once  speared  so 
many  porpoises  that  there  was  not  room  in  the 
land  of  the  Micmacs  to  contain  them." 

"  The  wise  men  speak  truly,"  returned  Aba- 
bejit  with  gravity  ;  then  he  proceeded  to  give  an 
account  of  his  day's  sport. 

After  that  they  talked  of  many  things,  while 
the  squaw  outside  patiently  kept  her  lord's  din- 
ner hot,  for  she  knew  that  he  would  not  eat  till 
he  had  rested. 

The  young  man  spoke  of  the  white  men  who 
had  recently  arrived  in  the  country,  and  asked 
his  uncle  about  the  manner  of  their  coming. 

Ababejit  pointed  to  the  northeast,  where  the 
island  of  Cape  Breton  lies  close  to  the  peninsula 
of  Nova  Scotia. 

"  Before  your  eyes  opened  upon  these  forests," 
he  said  to  the  young  man,  "  the  sun  shone  down 
one  day  on  a  curious  mark  on  the  seashore.  It 
was  not  the  print  of  a  bird,  nor  of  a  beast,  of  a 
naked  foot,  nor  of  a  moccasin.  Our  brethren 
followed  other  marks  like  it,  till  lifting  up  their 
eyes  they  saw  riding  on  the  waves  a  canoe  larger 
than  any  canoes  of  the  Micmacs.  Men  with 
white  skins  came  from  it  to  the  shore.  Our 
brethren  wondered  yet  said  nothing,  while  they 
received  magic  gifts  from  the  strangers.  The 
pale  faces  went  away,  but  you  know  that  they 
have  returned  and  another  race  has  followed 
them." 

"  Have  you  heard  the  words  of  the  medicine 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


195 


man?'*  asked  the  visitor,  whose  name  was 
Nanavivana. 

"  What  words  ?  "  asked  Ababejit. 

He  knew  very  well  what  they  were,  yet  he 
did  not  care  to  acknowledge  it. 

"  Words  of  war,"  said  the  young  man.  "  He 
says  that  the  white  races  are  to  take  away  the 
lands  of  the  red  man,  that  they  will  have  cruel 
wars  and  will  entice  us  to  join  them.  For  many 
years  it  will  be  *  matundimk,  matundimk  * — war, 
war.  The  white  man  will  break  his  word  to 
the  red  man,  and  the  red  man  will  break  his 
word  to  the  white  man.  They  will  burn  wig- 
wams and  murder  women  and  children ;  but 
the  French  and  English  must  bear  the  blame, 
for  they  will  hire  the  Indians  to  do  it." 

Ababejit  stretched  out  his  right  hand.  "  Away 
to  the  setting  sun,"  he  said,  "  this  land  is  the 
land  of  the  red  men  ;  they  will  not  allow  the 
stranger  to  penetrate  it." 

"The  medicine  man  says,"  continued  his 
guest,  "  that  the  pale  faces  will  take  the  for- 
ests and  the  meadows  and  the  rivers  from  our 


» 


race. 

Ababejit  gave  a  contemptuous  grunt.  "  The 
pale  faces  are  few,  we  are  many ;  as  it  has  been 
so  it  will  be." 

At  this  moment  the  squaw  approached  and 
asked  a  question  of  their  guest,  in  the  soft  flow- 
ing accents  of  the  Micmac  tongue. 

Ababejit  listened  keenly  for  the  young  man's 
answer.  The  squaw  had  asked  when  the  young 
daughter,  Kaloosa,  would  return  home. 


196 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


"Kaloosa  has  not  visited  our  wigwam  for 
three  days,"  said  the  young  man. 

The  squaw  looked  at  Ababejit  in  a  dazed 
manner. 

"  When  did  the  girl  leave  the  wigwam  ?  "  he 
asked  calmly 

The  squaw  cold  him  that  she  had  left  home 
early  in  the  morning. 

Ababejit  rose  and  followed  by  the  young  man 
went  along  the  river  bank. 

First  they  visited  every  wigwam  in  the  en- 
campment. The  men  were  lolling  about,  dogs 
and  children  were  playing ;  and  the  squaws,  for 
the  most  part,  were  cooking.  No  one  had  seen 
Kaloosa.  Several  of  the  men  jumped  up  and 
joined  in  the  search.  They  formed  a  circle 
around  the  encampment  and  advanced  farther 
and  farther  into  the  forest,  scrutinizing  every 
tree  and  shrub  and  stooping  down  to  examine 
even  the  blades  of  grass  and  tiny  flowers. 

Presently  they  returned  in  a  body.  Ababejit 
silently  held  up  an  arrow. 

At  the  sight  of  it  there  was  a  terrible  outcry 
among  the  women.  They  tore  their  hair  and 
rushed  to  and  fro,  for  they  all  recognized  the 
arrow  as  one  quite  different  from  their  own.  It 
belonged  to  their  hated  foes,  the  Mohawks.  A 
band  of  them  must  have  stolen  Kaloosa. 

The  men,  apparently  quite  unmoved  by  the 
clamor  that  filled  the  encampment,  quietly  made 
preparations  for  an  extended  march.  Then 
stolidly  turning  their  backs  on  their  wigwams 
they  plunged  into  the  still  forest    They  could 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


197 


not  go  very  far  that  night  They  soon  had  to 
encamp ;  but  by  daybreak  the  next  morning 
they  were  up  again  and  on  the  track  of  their 
foes. 

Before  the  next  night  they  caught  up  with 
the  Mohawks  ;  but  they  did  not  dare  attack  them 
as  the  strangers  were  in  much  larger  numbers 
than  they  were. 

The  Micmacs  hung  about  in  the  rear  of  their 
enemies,  not  showing  themselves  by  day,  and 
taking  only  stealthy  observations  at  night. 
Ababejit  was  relieved  to  see  that  his  young 
daughter  was  being  well  treated.  Owing  to  her 
pretty  ways  and  the  fact  of  her  being  the 
daughter  of  a  chief,  they  were  keeping  her  for 
ransom  or  to  make  her  the  bride  of  one  of  the 
principal  men  in  their  own  tribe. 

Ababejit  knew  that  she  was  traveling  mourn- 
fully away  from  her  home,  and  when  at  night 
he  crept  near  enough  to  see  her  despairing  atti- 
tude, as  she  sat  a  little  apart  from  the  dusky 
warriors  who  were  the  mortal  enemies  of  her 
tribe,  he  felt  himself  burning  with  a  slow  fury 
because  he  could  not  rush  in  and  attempt  her 
rescue. 

One  evening,  when  he  lay  crouched  in  the 
underbrush  at  some  distance  from  the  Mohawk 
camp,  he  heard  something  whirring  softly  over 
his  head,  and  looking  up  he  saw  a  white  pigeon. 
A  flock  of  pigeons  among  the  Indians  meant 
war ;  but  this  was  only  a  solitary  one,  and  he 
joyfully  recognized  it  as  his  daughter's  pet 
pigeon.     It  had  followed  her  all  the  way  from 


198 


THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


home,  flying  over  her  head  by  day  and  resting  at 
night  on  a  branch  near  her. 

Ababejit  rose  cautiously,  extended  his  wrist  to 
his  daughter's  pet,  and  when  it  alighted  he 
stroked  it  gently,  then  seized  it  by  its  red  feet. 

After  making  it  fast  he  took  a  tiny  piece  of 
birch  bark  from  a  tree  near  him,  and  opening 
a  little  vein  in  his  arm,  scrawled  on  it  with  his 
blood  in  Indian  characters,  "Do  not  mourn, 
Kaloosa,  I  see,  T  follow." 

There  is  no  word  in  the  Micmac  language  for 
patience,  or  he  probably  would  have  told  her  to 
be  patient.  As  it  was,  he  felt  much  comforted 
that  he  had  been  able  to  communicate  with  her, 
and  freeing  the  pigeon  which  he  knew  would  go 
straight  to  his  darling,  he  lay  down  again  noise- 
lessly and  revolved  in  his  mind  some  of  the 
many  plans  that  he  had  formed  for  effecting 
Kaloosa's  escape. 

The  next  day,  when  the  Mohawks  resumed 
their  march  toward  their  own  country,  the  chief 
saw  that  there  was  a  change  in  Kaloosa.  No 
longer  sad  and  dispirited,  she  ran  by  his  side 
through  the  forest  smiling,  laughing,  and  some- 
times singing  to  herself. 

"  What  is  it,  O  Kaloosa,  pretty  one  ?  "  he  said 
at  last  in  the  Mohawk  tongue.  ^'  Thy  face  that 
has  been  overcast  is  sunny.  Thou  at  last  re- 
joicest  to  leave  thy  home  and  the  Micmacs,  low- 
est of  races." 

"  Not  so,  O  Petonkas,"  she  said  courageously. 
"The  Micmacs  are  the  loved  of  the  Great 
Spirit ;  the  Mohawks  the  detested." 


THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


199 


said 
that 
re- 


The  expression  of  the  Mohawk  chief's  face 
changed  so  much  that  a  girl  less  brave  than 
Kaloosa  would  have  been  afraid  of  him. 

"Last  night  I  dreamed,  O  chief,"  she  said. 
"  The  great  Spirit  sent  another  spirit  to  confer 
with  me.  I  dreamed— oh,  such  a  pleasant 
dream,"  and  looking  around  at  the  party  of 
Mohawks,  she  burst  into  excited  laughter. 

The  Mohawks,  who  in  common  with  all  other 
Indians  were  full  of  superstition,  expressed  some 
curiosity  to  hear  the  substance  of  her  dream,  but 
she  refused  to  enlighten  them. 

"  When  the  camp-fire  burns  to-night,  O  Pe- 
tonkas,"  she  said  quietly,  "  then  I  may  relate 
things  revealed  to  me ;  not  now,  lest  I  vex  the 
Great  Spirit." 

Petonkas  did  not  know  quite  what  to  make  of 
Kaloosa,  and  marched  quietly  on. 

The  Micmacs  all  through  the  day  knew  noth- 
ing of  what  the  Mohawks  were  doing,  as  they 
were  obliged  to  keep  far  behind  them,  but  when 
the  darkness  came,  Ababejit  ordering  his  follow- 
ers to  remain  where  they  were  crept  over  the 
ground  like  a  snake  to  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
Mohawks,  for  the  members  of  the  party  who  had 
been  placed  as  guards  had  in  their  curiosity 
drawn  near  the  circle  around  the  fire. 

There  sat  Kaloosa,  her  long  black  hair  falling 
over  her  face,  her  anns  resting  on  her  knees,  as 
she  sat  in  a  crouching  posture  on  the  ground. 

The  chief,  Ababejit,  not  knowing  the  reason 
of  her  sudden  dejection  felt  his  heart  sink  within 
him  as  he  noticed  her  despairing  attitude,  and 


200 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


knew  that  her  pretty  face  must  be  drawn  and 
haggard. 

The  Mohawks  had  been  unable  to  obtain  any 
game  that  day,  and  it  was  a  party  of  almost 
fasting  men  that  surrounded  Kaloosa.  Strange 
to  say,  they  had  offered  her  a  large  portion  of 
what  food  they  had.  Though  she  was  their 
prisoner,  her  gentleness  and  beauty  had  made  an 
impression  on  them,  and  surprised  and  disturbed 
by  her  change  of  demeanor  they  were  watching 
her  intently  and  uneasily. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  evening.  The  sky  was 
overcast  and  the  wind  murmured  drearily 
through  the  tops  of  the  tall  trees.  The  leaves 
rustled  as  if  there  was  going  to  be  a  storm,  and 
suddenly  Kaloosa  began  crying  bitterly. 

The  Mohawks  said  nothing  to  her,  and  after  a 
time  she  raised  her  head,  pushed  back  her  hair, 
and  rising  slowly  stretched  out  her  hand  toward 
the  Mohawk  chief. 

"  You  wish  me  to  tell  my  rl^^eam,  O  chief ; 
better  for  you  perhaps  did  you  not  do  so.  This 
morning  I  rejoiced  when  I  thoTight  on  it.  This 
evening  I  sorrow,  for "  —  looking  at  the  re- 
jected food  which  the  Mohawks  were  too  proud 
to  touch — "Kaloosa  is  not  insensible  to  kind- 
ness. But  listen !  the  Great  Spirit  has  revealed 
to  me  things  of  the  future.  I  saw  an  encamp- 
ment of  the  mighty  Mohawk  nation,  after  the 
Micmacs  bravest  among  men.  I  saw  the  bosom 
of  a  quiet  lake — ^the  waters  were  not  stirred ; 
one,  two,  three,  four  canoes  went  out  on  it.  One, 
two,  three  came  back.     '  Where  is  the  fourth,'  I 


I 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


20I 


cried.  Gone,  gone,  O  chief,"  and  a  shrill  cry 
of  pain  rang  out  from  the  girl  as  she  threw  her 
hands  despairingly  up  toward  heaven. 

"  I  walked  by  the  shores  of  the  lake  and  I 
mourned.  Ukchenut,  Maloit," — and  she  went 
on  to  name  half  the  members  of  the  party  be- 
fore her,  pointing  to  each  one  as  she  did  so  with 
an  expressive  gesture — "  were  in  that  lost  canoe." 

The  Indians  glanced  stoically  at  her,  though 
their  faces  blanched  a  little.  The  Indians  not 
named  were  equally  stoical,  though  in  their 
hearts  was  a  feeling  of  relief,  for  they  regarded 
the  girl  for  the  time  being  as  a  prophetess  ;  but 
she  had  not  finished. 

"I  walked  by  the  lake  and  mourned,"  she 
went  on  sadly.  "  Then  a  great  war  arose.  The 
Mohawks  went  out  in  a  mighty  army  and  they 
came  back  again  with  many  scalps,  and  there 
was  feasting  and  rejoicing ;  but  my  heart  was 
heavy,  for  the  men  I  had  known  were  not  there. 

"  *  Where,  O  warriors,  are  Nadgewit  and  Mo- 
welo  ? '  I  exclaimed,  *  Mowelo,  the  swift  deer  of 
the  forest  ?  * 

"  '  Chelautok !  chelautok ! ' — ^he  is  slain,  he  is 
slain — was  the  reply. 

"  *  And  where  Petonkas,  the  wild  bear  of  the 
mountains,  the  victor  of  victors  ? '  and  the  girl 
fixed  her  burning  glance  on  the  chief  of  the  Mo- 
hawk band. 

"  *  He  was  taken  alive,'  they  answered  me," 
and  at  this  most  terrible  of  fates  to  befall  an  In- 
dian warrior  the  girl  raised  her  voice  to  a  shrill 
scream  of  horror. 


202 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


"  *  And,  wherefore  reserve  him  for  the  torture, 
OSpirit?»Icried. 

^*  *  Because  he  forgot  his  manhood  and  became 
a  thief  of  children.  He  entered  the  camp  of  a 
man  that  was  not  at  war  with  him,' "  ana  half 
fainting  Kaloosa  threw  herself  on  the  ground  at 
Petonkas'  feet 

He  watched  her  solemnly.  "  The  Great  Spirit 
has  spoken  to  the  maiden,"  he  said  at  last. 

Just  as  he  uttered  these  words  there  was  a 
flash  of  lightning  and  a  terrific  thunderstorm 
burst  upon  them.  "The  Great  Spirit  hath 
spoken;  it  is  for  us  to  hear,"  muttered  the 
others. 

Ababejit  in  speechless  delight  made  his  way 
under  cover  of  the  storm  back  to  his  followers. 
As  well  as  if  he  had  heard  Petonkas  make  a 
solemn  vow  he  knew  what  he  would  do.  To 
propitiate  the  Great  Spirit  Kaloosa  would  be  re- 
turned to  his  wigwam.  With  implicit  faith  in 
his  foe,  for  Indians  do  not  break  their  word  to 
each  other,  he  hurried  back  to  his  encampment 
a  day's  march  ahead  of  his  enemies. 

The  Mohawks  went  by  a  different  route 
through  the  forest.  When  they  arrived  within 
half  a  day's  march  of  Ababejit's  wigwam,  scouts 
were  sent  out.  They  came  back  reporting  that 
the  chief  and  his  principal  men  were  engaged 
in  fishing. 

The  Mohawks  escorted  Kaloosa  a  little  farther, 
parted  from  her  without  emotion  but  with  con- 
cealed regret  on  account  of  her  gentle  ways. 

Ababejit,  as  he  stepped  from  his  canoe  at  sun- 


THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


ao3 


down,  felt  once  more  the  ecstasy  of  clasping  his 
brave  child  in  his  arms  and  finding  her  unhurt 
and  uninjured  in  any  way. 


KALOOSA  THE  SECOND 


The  first  Kaloosa  grew  to  be  a  woman,  married 
a  Micmac  brave,  and  after  some  years  died  leav- 
ing a  number  of  children. 

As  time  went  on  the  prophecy  of  the  medicine 
man  came  true.  The  French  and  the  English 
overran  Nova  Scotia.  The  tribe  of  the  Micmacs 
became  greatly  reduced  in  numbers,  and  to-day 
there  are  only  a  few  thousands  of  them  scattered 
about  the  province. 

Their  lands  have  passed  into  the  possession 
of  the  white  people,  and  they  have  lost  their 
ancient  prowess  in  hunting  and  fishing,  for  the 
wild  animals  are  nearly  all  gone  from  the  forests. 
Some  of  the  Micmacs  still  live  in  wigwams, 
others  have  small  wooden  houses,  and  they  sup- 
port themselves  by  cultivating  meagre  patches 
of  ground,  or  by  making  barrels,  baskets,  and 
buckets,  which  they  sell  to  the  white  people. 

The  little  Kaloosa,  whom  we  now  have  to  tell 
about,  is  a  descendant  and  namesake  of  the  first 
Kaloosa.  One  winter  day  a  few  years  ago  she 
was  sitting  beside  her  mother  in  the  market- 
place of  a  Nova  Scotian  town.  It  was  a  cold 
morning,  and  Kaloosa's  feet  were  quite  numb  as 
they  stuck  straight  out  before  her  on  the  snow 
bank  which  was  her  seat. 


204 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


Her  mother,  Nancy,  leaned  heavily  against 
her,  and  Kaloosa  looked  uneasily  at  her  every 
few  minutes. 

They  had  made  a  number  of  gay  pink  and 
white  baskets  that  they  had  brought  to  the  town 
to  sell ;  but  Nancy  was  not  able  to  offer  them  for 
the  inspection  of  passers-by,  and  Kaloosa  being 
too  shy  to  do  so,  none  of  them  were  being  sold. 

"  Is  your  mother  asleep  ?  "  asked  a  lady  who 
was  doing  her  marketing,  and  who  stopped  sud- 
denly before  them. 

"  No,  no  sleep,"  whispered  Kaloosa  softly. 

The  lady  looked  sadly  down  at  them.  She 
saw  that  the  squaw  had  been  drinking.  "  She 
is  katheet,"  she  murmured,  for  she  understood  a 
little  Micmac. 

Kaloosa  shook  her  head.  "No,  no,  not 
katheet — welopskeet."  Welopskeet  was  a  milder 
way  of  stating  the  case,  for  katheet  means  simply 
drunk. 

"  Poor  child,"  pursued  the  lady  pityingly, 
"  you  wish  to  screen  your  mother."  Then  she 
added,  "  Are  you  not  cold  ?  " 

"Yes,  me  cold,"  drawled  Kaloosa  with  the 
pretty  accent  of  her  tribe.  "  You  got  ole  skirt 
for  me?" 

"  Yes,  come  to  my  house  the  next  time  you 
are  in  town,"  said  the  lady,  writing  an  address 
on  a  slip  of  paper  for  her ;  "  and  now  you  had 
better  get  your  mother  home.  She  will  take 
cold  if  you  stay  here.  I  will  buy  three  of  your 
baskets  now." 

"  Yes,  me  go,"  murmured  Kaloosa,  and  scium- 


THE  TWO  KAUX>SAS 


205 


vOn- 


bling  to  her  little  half-frozen  feet  she  took  her 
mother  by  the  arm. 

The  lady  watched  them  going  down  the  street. 
"  Poor  things !  dressed  in  our  discarded  garments, 
the  victims  of  the  wretched  fire-water.  How 
many  sins  we  shall  have  to  answer  for." 

Some  people  imagine  that  Indian  children  are 
very  carelessly  brought  up,  but  this  is  not  the 
case.  Kaloosa  had  been  taught  to  respect  her 
parents,  and  she  did  so  even  when  they  were 
doing  wrong  things.  She  guided  her  mother's 
tottering  footsteps  carefully  along  the  crowded 
streets,  till  at  last  they  were  out  on  a  country 
road  and  walking  toward  their  little  hut  in  the 
woods. 

The  tree  branches  were  laden  with  snow,  only 
the  rabbits  and  the  foxes  shared  with  them  the 
track  from  the  road  to  the  hut,  and  by  the  time 
they  arrived  there  Nancy's  half-worn  shoes  and 
Kaloosa's  old  rubbers  were  thoroughly  soaked, 
and  their  dresses  were  wet  from  the  melting 
snow. 

Kaloosa  pushed  open  the  rude  door  and  as- 
sisted her  mother  to  a  bed  on  the  floor  in  a  comer 
of  the  tiny  dwelling.  Then  she  gathered  a  few 
sticks  together,  and  touching  a  match  to  them 
started  a  fire  in  the  crazy  stove. 

While  they  had  been  begging  from  door  to 
door  that  morning  before  going  to  the  market, 
some  one  had  given  them  a  pound  of  tea. 
Kaloosa  put  a  handful  of  it  into  a  teapot,  for 
Indians  drink  their  tea  incredibly  strong,  and 
made  her  mother  a  good  cup  of  it. 


2o6 


.THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


After  drinking  it  Nancy  felt  better,  and  sat 
up  on  her  bed  of  spruce  to  look  at  her  little 
daughter. 

"  Kaloosa  is  a  good  papoose,"  she  said  in  Mic- 
mac ;  "  she  cares  for  her  mother,  and  in  the  life- 
time of  her  father  she  never  stepped  between 
him  and  the  fire,  nor  did  she  cross  his  fish  spear. 
The  good  Sasus  will  reward  her." 

By  Sasus  Nancy  meant  Jesus.  In  common 
with  nearly  all  the  Micmacs  she  had  given  up 
the  spirit  worship  of  her  forefathers,  and  was  a 
Roman  Catholic.  She  and  Kaloosa  said  their 
prayers,  attended  mass,  and  went  to  confession. 
If  they  were  in  a  part  of  the  country  where 
there  was  no  chapel  in  which  to  assemble  a  serv- 
ice was  held  in  a  wigwam.  They  called  Jesus, 
Sasus,  and  in  their  prayer  books  were  extracts 
from  the  Bible  with  psalms  and  hymns. 

Kaloosa  looked  kindly  at  her  mother,  and 
Nancy  continued :  "  Will  the  little  papoose  sing 
to  her  mother  some  of  the  songs  of  the  mis- 
sionary?" 

Kaloosa  lifted  up  her  little  plaintive  voice  and 
half  sang,  half  chanted  a  touching  song  written 
by  a  good  old  Baptist  missionary,  who  went 
among  the  Roman  Catholic  Indians  of  Nova 
Scotia  a  few  years  ago,  and  without  provoking 
controversy  read  the  Bible  to  them  in  their  own 
language,  and  sang  beautiful  hymns. 

The  song  that  Kaloosa  sang  he  had  written 
himself,  and  he  called  it  "  The  Dying  Indian's 
Dream."  John  Paul,  a  converted  Indian,  was 
the  subject  of  it,  and  the  first  verses  related  his 


THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 


207 


IIS- 


in*s 


skill  as  a  hunter,  and  his  toil  in  his  humble 
home  at  '*  basket,  bark,  and  broom,"  to  gain  the 
scanty  fare  doled  grudgingly  out  to  him  by  the 
white  people  who  had  taken  the  land  of  his 
sires. 

At  last  he  fell  ill — consumption,  the  scourge 
of  the  Micmac  tribe,  was  eating  away  his 
strength — and  the  poem  describes  his  people  sit- 
ting about  him  waiting  to  see  their  father  die. 
He  had  become  very  thin,  his  flesh  was  gone, 
naught  save  the  breathing  skeleton  remained  to 
him,  yet  he  was  cheerful  and  happy.  He  slept 
and  dreamed  that  he  Y/as  in  heaven  in  an  im- 
mense golden  palace,  and  little  Kaloosa  crouch- 
ing over  the  fire  told  what  he  saw : 

Oh,  I  have  been  in  heaven  ; 

To  me  it  has  been  given 

To  see  the  throne  of  God — the  angels  clothed  in  light, 

And  ransonied  spirits  in  the  purest  white. 

They  knew  my  name. 

And  who  I  am. 

And  whence  I  came. 

I  heard  them  loud  through  heaven  proclaim. 

Make  room  !  make  room  ! 

John  Paul  has  come  !  John  Paul  has  come ! 

When  the  papoose  finished  her  song  she  too 
fell  asleep;  hour  after  hour  went  by  and  she 
still  crouched  by  the  fire.  Such  a  pitiful  little 
figure  she  was,  so  pale  and  haggard,  so  miser- 
ably dressed,  so  utterly  unlike  the  straight, 
graceful,  prosperous-looking  girl  who  had  lived 
so  many  years  before  and  for  whom  she  was 
named. 


N 


j»»t»{i»4;»«,?i<nf"*''' 


2o8 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


Late  in  the  afternoon  she  was  startled  by  a 
knock  at  the  door.  She  roused  herself,  and 
after  a  hasty  glance  at  her  mother  went  to  let 
in  the  stranger. 

It  was  the  missionary  himself  who  stood 
before  her.  He  was  a  tall,  remarkable-looking 
old  man,  and  he  held  a  staff  in  his  hand.  A 
cloak  was  wrapped  around  his  shoulders,  his  hair 
and  beard  were  long  and  white,  and  he  wore  a 
fur  cap  pulled  down  over  his  ears. 

"Good-day,  little  papoose,"  he  said  putting  his 
staff  in  the  comer  of  the  room  and  seating;  him- 
self on  an  upturned  box  by  the  fire.  "How 
goes  it  with  the  mother  ?  " 

He  spoke  Micmac  with  a  pure  and  correct 
accent.  No  white  man  in  Nova  Scotia  knew  as 
much  of  the  Indian  language  as  he  did,  and 
Nancy,  who  was  always  glad  to  see  him,  raised 
herself  up  in  her  bed. 

She  put  a  great  many  quest  ens  to  him  about 
the  different  members  of  her  tribe  who  lived  in 
other  parts  of  the  province,  for  the  missionary 
kept  traveling  all  the  time  and  never  stayed  long 
in  one  place. 

He  answered  all  her  inquiries.  Then  he 
pulled  a  little  book  from  his  pocket  and  asked, 
"  What  shall  I  read  to-day,  Nancy  ?  " 

"  Tell  of  the  good  Sasus  on  the  cross,"  said 
Nancy  softly. 

The  missionary,  holding  the  Testament  in  his 
hand,  read  slowly  to  her  the  account  of  the  cruci- 
fixion, putting  the  English  into  sweet-sounding 
Micmac  as  he  went  along. 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


309 


in  he 
isked, 

said 


"  It  is  sad — sad,"  murmured  Nancy  dropping 
her  head  and  shedding  slow  tears.  "  There  is  no 
white  man  now  as  good  and  kind  as  Sasus." 

The  missionary  read  on,  and  presently  she  ex- 
claimed joyfully,  "  Do  we  not  think  the  same 
things  after  all  ?    Say  the  words  of  forgiveness." 

"Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do,"  repeated  the  missionary. 

"  Nancy  will  try  to  say  that,"  said  the  Mic- 
mac  woman.  "  Father,  forgive  the  white  people 
when  they  enter  the  camp  of  the  Micmacs, 
which  are  dear  to  them,  and  pull  our  things 
about  and  say,  what  is  this  ?  and  what  is  that  ? 
and  Father  forgive  them  for  selling  the  bad 
drink  to  Nancy." 

She  hung  her  head  on  her  breast  in  shame, 
and  little  Kaloosa  averted  her  eyes  from  her, 
while  the  missionary  closed  his  book  and  re- 
marked kindly,  "  Jesus  will  help  Nancy  to  give 
up  the  drink." 

"  Nancy  has  asked  him,"  said  the  woman  in 
a  low  voice ;  "  but  the  devil  takes  her  by  the 
shoulder  and  says.  Come." 

"  Kaloosa,"  said  the  missionary  turning  to  the 
child,  "have  you  recited  the  verses  for  your 
mother  that  you  promised  to  learn  for  me  while 
I  was  away  ?  " 

"  Many  times,  good  teacher,"  replied  the  little 
girl. 

"  Say  them  once  again,"  requested  Nancy. 

Kaloosa  turned  her  face  toward  her  mother 
and  repeated  the  following  lines  with  touching 
humility  of  accent : 


2IO  THE  TWO  KALOOSAS 

In  de  dark  wood,  no  Indian  nigh, 
Den  me  look  hebun  and  send  up  cry 

Upon  my  knees  so  low  ; 
Dat  God  on  high  in  shiny  place, 
See  me  in  night  wid  teary  face, 

My  heart  him  tell  me  so. 

Him  send  him  angel  take  me  care, 
Him  come  himself  and  hear  my  prayer, 

If  Indian  heart  do  pray; 
Him  see  me  now,  him  know  me  here, 
Him  say:  "  Poor  Indian,  neber  fear. 

Me  wid  you  night  and  day." 

So  me  lub  God  wid  inside  hear^ 
He  fight  for  me,  he  takum  part, 

He  sabum  life  before  ; 
God  lub  poor  Indian  in  de  wood. 
And  me  lub  he  and  dat  be  good, 

Me  pray  him  two  time  more. 

When  me  be  old,  me  head  be  gray, 
Den  him  no  leabe  me,  so  him  say, 

"  Me  wid  you  till  you  die  "  ; 
Den  take  me  up  to  shiny  place. 
See  white  man,  red  man,  black  man  face^ 

All  happy  like  on  high. 

"  Nancy  will  pray  again,"  said  the  Micmac 
woman  who  had  listened  to  her  daughter  with  a 
radiant  face.  "  Let  the  missionary  hearken,  and 
write  the  words  in  his  book." 

She  slipped  on  her  knees,  and  the  missionary 
felt  his  heart  melt  within  him  as  he  listened  to 
the  pathetic  prayer  for  forgiveness  and  safe- 
keeping from  her  besetting  sin  of  drunkenness 
that  the  poor  woman  put  up. 

"  Sasus  will  hear  Nancy  this  time,"  he  said 


THB  TWO  KALOOSAS 


211 


[onary 
led  to 
safe- 
mness 

said 


when  they  were  again  sitting  around  the  fire. 
"I  think  that  she  prayed  from  *  inside  heart.* 
Now  I  must  say  good-bye  to  you.  I  shall  come 
to  see  you  to-morrow ;  then  not  again  for  many 
moons.  Now  listen  :  I  wish  Nancy  and  her 
daughter  to  think  over  this  plan  before  another 
sleep.  Away  in  the  town  yonder  is  a  warm 
place  where  Nancy  can  go  for  the  winter  where 
the  devil  will  not  tempt  her  as  he  does  here 
in  the  cold  and  the  darkness.** 

"Are  there  walls  around  the  wann  place?" 
asked  Nancy  looking  out  through  the  window  of 
her  hut  at  the  fringe  of  an  extensive  wood. 

"  Yes ;  but  in  the  spring  Nancy  can  return  to 
her  home,  and  in  the  meantime  the  little  pa- 
poose can  be  at  school  among  the  white  people, 
where  she  will  learn  many  things  that  will 
enable  her  to  be  a  teacher  among  her  own  tribe 
when  she  grows  up,  if  she  wills  it." 

"Will  the  papoose  be  with  her  mother?** 
asked  Nancy. 

"  No,"  said  the  missionary ;  "  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  you  must  be  separated ;  but  it  is  not  always 
winter.  Look  forward  to  the  time  of  birds  and 
the  summer.** 

"Does  Che  good  Sasus  wish  us  to  do  it?** 
asked  Nancy  wistfully. 

"  Ask  him,"  said  the  missionary.  "  At  sun- 
down to-marroiw  I  will  be  with  you.  Adieu,  for 
the  present,"  and  pronouncing  a  soft  Micmac 
blessing  he  went  slowly  down  the  narrow  path. 

Nancy  stood  in  the  doorway  looking  after 
him. 


213 


THE  TWO  KAI^OOSAS 


"  In  the  olden  times,"  said  the  woman  stretch- 
ing out  her  hands  toward  the  large  pines  bend- 
ing toward  their  dwelling,  "  the  forests  and  the 
meadows  belonged  to  our  forefathers.  Now  they 
are  no  longer  ours.  We,  who  made  the  earth 
tremble,  must  serve  the  pale  faces.  We  must  do 
as  the  missionary  bids  us,  my  daughter." 

"  In  the  olden  times  we  had  many  things," 
said  the  little  papoose ;  "  but  there  is  one  thing 
which  the  missionary  says  is  the  greatest  of  good 
gifts  that  we  did  not  have." 

"  What  is  that,  my  daughter  ?  " 

"  The  love  of  Sasus,"  said  the  child  gently. 

Nancy's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  "  True  words, 
my  daughter.  Better  the  present  days  than  the 
old  ones." 


I 


)) 


I 


I                      \ 

r 

/  —  ,    — , 

"T 

1        1        .. 

too  swoet  for  uiiythiiii:,'.' 


' 


I  ■ 


Piige  213. 


//■ 


'         \ 


nge  213. 


VIII 
BUNNY  BOY 


fHEN  Diadem  Gale  got  ready  for  school 
on  a  rainy  morning  and  went  trotting 
down  the  street  she  looked,  as  the 
^  i«Bw»u     housemaid  said,  "  too  sweet  for  any- 

thing." 
In  the  first  place  she  pinned  up  her  frock, 
which  was  always  rather  a  long  one.  Then  she 
put  on  high  rubber  boots,  a  little  mackintosh 
with  a  cape,  and  with  her  cap  on  the  back  of 
her  head  and  her  blue  umbrella  in  her  hand,  she 
was  ready  for  the  worst  rainstorm  that  could 
come  along. 

People  siways  stared  hard  at  her  on  rainy 
mornings,— -she  looked  so  comfortable  as  she 
jogged  along  the  sidewalk, — ^while  on  fine  days 
no  one  ever  seemed  to  notice  her  more  than  they 
did  any  of  the  other  little  girls  who  ran  up  and 
down  the  streets. 

Her  brother  Dan  always  carried  her  bag  of 
books  for  her  on  rainy  days.  On  this  particular 
day  he  had  had  his  breakfast  early  and  had  gone 
on  before,  and  Diadem  as  she  hurried  toward 
the  school  was  quite  alone. 

I  wish  I  could  give  you  a  perfect  description 

313 


214 


BUNNY   BOY 


of  the  town  in  which  Diadem  lived,  it  was  such 
a  charming  place.  Whenever  Diadem  was  visit- 
ing and  any  one  asked  her  where  her  home  was, 
she  replied,  "  I  live  in  the  city  of  Fredericton, 
on  the  beautiful  River  St.  John." 

This* river,  which  is  a  Canadian  one,  is  the 
loveliest  feature  of  a  smiling  landscape  in  the 
province  of  New  Brunswick.  It  goes  leisurely 
toward  the  sea,  sometimes  winding  between 
waving  forests,  sometimes  over  the  broad  and 
fertile  intervale  lands,  which  are  green  and 
luxuriant  all  through  the  summer,  and  where 
the  crane  rises  silently  from  clumps  of  rushes  as 
the  river  boats  go  by.  . 

Sometimes  the  river  passes  little  villages  and 
larger  towns  ;  sometimes  it  is  broad  and  peaceful 
and  looks  as  if  it  were  melting  away  into  some 
wide  lake ;  at  other  times  the  banks  are  closer  to- 
gether, and  it  goes  hurrying  along  as  if  in  haste 
to  wash  against  the  wharves  and  docks  of  the 
big  city  where  it  says  farewell  to  the  province 
and  rushes  into  the  embrace  of  the  restless  sea. 

So  much  for  the  river.  But  we  are  going  to 
speak  of  Diadem's  town,  which  is  nearly  one 
hundred  miles  from  its  mouth.  The  river  is 
charming,  the  town  equally  so.  It  is  like  a  park. 
Tall  trees  stand  over  nearly  all  of  the  pretty 
houses,  and  just  leave  sunlight  enough  to  keep 
children  strong  and  well  and  to  make  the  flow- 
ers grow  in  the  lovely  gardens.  Outside  the 
town  are  lovely  pastures  and  grand  old  forests 
where  the  children  go  for  nuts  in  the  autumn 
days. 


BUNNY  BOY 


215 


On  this  day  the  town  did  not  look  so  attractive 
as  usual)  because  it  was  raining.  Diadem  moved 
her  umbrella  aside  to  look  up  at  the  dripping 
tree  branches.  She  was  always  sorry  for  the 
birds  when  it  rained. 

The  trees  in  the  town  of  Fredericton  were 
full  of  birds.  The  blackbirds  that  usually  build 
their  nests  in  the  woods,  lodged  all  through  the 
town,  even  in  the  business  quarter  in  the 
branches  of  the  enormous  elms.  Nobody  was 
allowed  to  molest  them,  and  they  lived  happily 
along  with  goldfinches,  swallows,  sparrows, 
woodpeckers,  robins,  and  many  other  kinds  of 
birds. 

It  was  a  celebrated  place  for  birds,  and  the 
people  of  the  town  were  rewarded  for  their 
kindness  to  them  by  the  protection  their  little 
feathered  friends  gave  to  their  gardens.  The 
leaves  of  the  trees  were  always  glossy  and  green, 
and  no  grubs  devoured  the  fruit  and  foliage  in 
the  gardens  and  orchards,  for  all  through  the 
spring  and  summer  little  beaks  were  busy  eating 
thousands  and  thousands  of  worms  and  insects. 

When  Diadem  reached  the  schoolhouse  she 
shook  the  rain  from  her  umbrella,  stood  it  in  a 
comer  of  the  cloak-room,  hung  up  her  wet 
mackintosh,  and  entered  the  school-room. 

The  bell  had  not  yet  rung,  and  the  children 
were  scattered  in  groups  about  the  room  talking 
to  each  other.  Diadem  joined  them,  and  her 
happy  voice  chimed  in  with  those  of  the  other 
children. 

She  had  her  back  to  the  door  and  was  not 


2l6 


BUNNY  ROY 


among  the  first  to  look  upon  rather  a  strange 
sight. 

The  teacher,  Miss  Julian,  entered  the  room 
and  behind  her  walked  a  little  gray  cat,  drawing 
a  tiny  cart  by  a  string  that  it  held  in  its  mouth. 

It  was  a  very  odd  thing  for  a  cat  to  do.  The 
children  could  hardly  credit  their  eyesight,  and 
some  of  them  laughed,  while  .>thers,  looking  at 
Miss  Julian's  disturbed  face,  said  "hush." 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  as  she  took  her 
seat,  and  could  not  help  smiling  herself  as  she 
watched  the  little  cat  drawing  the  cart  along  the 
floor.  Then  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands, 
and  the  children  silently  stood  peering  over  one 
another's  shoulders  at  the  curious  spectacle  of 
the  little  cat,  which  was  playing  with  the  cart  as 
intently  as  if  it  were  alone,  dragging  it  back- 
ward and  forward  and  occasionally  pushing  it 
with  its  paws. 

Miss  Julian  touched  the  bell.  "  Go  to  your 
seats,  children." 

They  all  sat  down ;  then  instead  of  opening 
the  school  with  a  hymn,  as  they  usually  did. 
Miss  Julian  began  to  speak  to  them  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hands  and  sometimes  putting  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  children,  I  feel  so  badly,"  she  said. 
"You  have  heard  me  speak  of  the  little  de- 
formed boy  in  the  house  where  I  board  who 
died  a  week  ago.  This  little  cat,  that  was  his 
pet,  is  making  his  mother  so  unhappy  that  I 
have  brought  him  here  to  give  to  one  of  you." 

The  children  were  as  quiet  as  mice,  and  after 


BUNNY  BOY 


217 


a  minute^s  pause  Miss  Julian  went  on:  "The 
cat  was  the  child's  playmate,  and  he  cannot 
realize  that  his  master  is  dead.  He  is  looking 
for  him  all  the  time,  and  he  stands  outside  his 
door  or  draws  this  little  cart  up  and  down, 
hoping  that  I^arry  will  come  back  to  play  with 
him.  He  mews  pitifully  too,  and  Larry's  mother 
says  that  she  will  not  keep  him  in  her  lonely 
house,  but  will  give  him  to  some  boy  or  girl 
who  will  be  kind  to  him." 

"Oh,  the  poor  little  pussy-cat,"  burst  from 
Diadem's  sympathetic  heart. 

Miss  Julian  smiled  at  her.  "  Do  you  wish  to 
have  him.  Diadem  ?  I  think  he  would  be  happy 
with  you." 

Diadem  went  from  her  seat  up  to  the  platform 
and  stood  over  the  little  gray  animal. 

"  Ask  him  to  come  to  you,"  said  Miss  Julian. 
"Larry  called  him  Bunny  Boy  because  he  is 
said  to  be  part  rabbit." 

"  Bunny  Boy,  Bunny  Boy,"  said  Diadem,  ex- 
tending her  fingers,  "  come  to  Diadem,  she  will 
comfort  you." 

"  Meow,  meow,"  said  the  little  lonely  animal, 
dropping  the  string  of  the  cart  to  go  to  her. 

"  You  see  he  is  a  very  pretty  creature,"  said 
Miss  Julian.  "  Every  one  admires  that  long  gray 
hair,  and  his  disposition  is  something  remarka- 
ble. He  will  play  games  and  follow  you  more 
Hke  a  gentle  dog  than  a  cat.  I  never  have  seen 
an  animal  like  him,  and  you  will  get  to  love  him 
dearly.  Now,  children,  we  must  get  to  lessons. 
I  am  late  this  morning,  but  I  feel  quite  unnerved 


2l8 


BUNNY  BOY 


thinking  of  the  dear  patient  lad  we  miss  so 
sorely.  However,  I  must  remember  how  per- 
fectly happy  he  is  now  and  that  we  shall  go  to 
him  some  day." 

"What  shall  I  do  with  Bunny  Boy?"  asked 
Diadem.  She  had  taken  the  cat  in  her  arms 
and  sat  hugging  him  with  a  very  happy  face. 

"  He  will  sit  here  under  my  desk  till  recess, 
and  then  we  shall  decide  who  is  to  have  him." 


Diadem  got  the  cat  subject  to  her  father^s 
approval. 

When  school  was  over  that  morning  she 
trotted  home  with  her  new  pet  in  her  arms, 
while  Dan  trudged  behind  her  carrying  her 
books,  her  umbrella,  and  the  little  cart. 

"  Father,  father,"  she  exclaimed,  entering  the 
dining  room,  "  look  here  " ;  and  she  deposited 
the  gray  cat  on  Mr.  Gale's  knee. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  said  that  gentleman,  looking 
up.     "What's  this?" 

"  It  is  the  best  cat  that  ever  lived,"  said  Dia- 
dem. "  Miss  Julian  says  it  is.  His  grandfather 
was  a  rabbit  and  he  never  scratched  any  one  in 
his  life." 

"I  have  no  reason  to  doubt  Miss  Julian's 
word,"  said  Mr.  Gale ;  "  but  Diadem,  you  have 
such  a  succession  of  the  best  animals  in  the 
world  and  they  so  often  die  and  leave  you, 
thereby  wounding  your  feelings,  that  I  don't 
know  about  letting  you  have  another." 

"This  is  a  healthy  cat,  father;  I  don't  think 
he  will  die." 


BUNNY   BOY 


219 


"  It  isn't  Diadem's  fault  that  the  animals  die," 
said  Dan  stoutly.  "  If  some  of  those  girls  that 
bring  her  sick  and  dying  creatur*  3  would  keep 
away  she  would  be  all  right." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  see  that  graveyard 
any  larger,"  said  Mr.  Gale,  taking  up  his  paper, 
"  nor  to  see  you  playing  grave-digger  quite  so 
often,  Dan." 

"Who  is  talking  about  graves?"  asked  a 
young  lady  who  at  that  moment  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Netta,  Miss  Netta,"  said  Diadem, 
precipitating  herself  upon  her.  "Have  you 
come  to  take  dinner  with  us?  How  good  in 
you." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  said  the  young  lady,  returning 
Diadem's  caresses.     "  How  do  you  do,  Dan  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  "  said  the  boy  gruffly,  and 
sidling  nearer  to  Diadem. 

They  all  sat  down  to  the  table.  Miss  Netta 
taking  the  place  that  had  been  left  vacant  since 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Gale,  three  years  before. 

"  If  you  don't  mind  my  returning  to  such  a 
dismal  subject,"  said  the  young  lady  vivaciously, 
"will  some  one  tell  me  what  was  meant  by 
Dan's  digging  graves  ?  " 

"Have  you  never  heard  of  Diadem's  ceme- 
tery ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gale. 

"Never.     What  is  it?" 

"  All  the  animals  round  about  that  are  sick, 
or  in  distress,  or  dying,  take  refuge  or  are 
brought  here,  and  Diadem  nurses  them  till  they 
depart  this  life.     Then  there  are  tears  and  sobs 


220 


BUNNY   BOY 


and  I  have  to  console  her  while  Dan  digs  a 
grave  and  plants  a  tombstone  over  the  departed 
favorite.  I  must  show  you  a  photograph  that  I 
took  of  her  two  years  ago  where  Dan  is  comfort- 
ing her." 

"How  very  trying  for  you,  Diadem,"  said 
Miss  Netta. 

"  It  is  very  bad  for  me,"  said  Diadem  gravely, 
"  but  it  is  worse  for  the  poor  little  things  that 
have  to  suffer." 

"And  do  you  save  none  of  your  wrecks?" 
asked  Miss  Netta. 

"  Why,  you  know  Grum  Growdy,"  said  Dia- 
dem merrily ;  "  he  was  a  wreck." 

"  That  queer  old  raven,"  said  Miss  Netta. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Diadem;  "he  fell  out  of  a 
tree  one  day  and  went  staggering  about  till  he 
frightened  Mrs.  Denham  and  she  gave  him  to 
me.  Cook  put  some  medicine  down  his  throat 
and  he  fell  over  as  if  he  was  dead ;  but  when 
the  grave  was  ready  he  jumped  up  and  said, 
*  Ha !  ha ! '  then  Mrs.  Denham  wouldn't  take 
him  back." 

"  Mrs.  Denham  was  a  sensible  woman,"  said 
Mr.  Gale ;  "  that  bird  is  the  plague  of  our  lives." 

Diadem  looked  anxiously  at  their  guest. 
"Father  doesn't  mean  that.  Miss  Netta;  he  is 
good  to  all  my  pets.  I  think  he  is  the  best  man 
that  ever  lived." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Miss  Netta  dryly. 
.    Dan  stared  at  her  half-angrily,  but  she  paid  no 
attention  to  him  and  went  on  with  her  dinner. 

"Well,  father,  what  about  the  cat?"  asked 


BUNNY   BOY 


221 


Diadem,  when  she  had  finished  her  strawberries 
and  cream  and  was  about  to  prepare  for  school. 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gale  evasively. 

"  Here,  father  "  ;  and  raising  her  napkin  Dia- 
dem showed  Bunny  Boy,  who  had  been  curled 
up  on  her  lap  during  the  meal.  *'  I  thought  I 
would  let  him  stay  close  to  me  because  he  might 
be  lonely,"  she  said  apologetically.  "  May  I 
keep  him,  father  ?  " 

"Ask  Miss  Netta,"  he  said  laughingly,  putting 
aside  the  hand  that  his  little  daughter  laid  on 
his  wrist. 

"  Miss  Netta ! "  exclaimed  Diadem ;  "  she  won't 
care,  she  lives  away  across  the  bridge." 

"  Oh  no,  she  doesn't,"  said  her  father. 

Diadem  looked  at  the  head  of  the  table. 
"  Have  you  moved  to  town.  Miss  Netta  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  young  lady  composedly;  "I 
was  married  to  your  father  this  morning." 

Dan  noisily  pushed  back  his  chair  and  went 
to  the  window,  but  Diadem  continued  to  gaze 
first  at  her  father  and  then  at  his  wife. 

"  I  suppose  I  should  have  told  you  and  Dan," 
said  Mr.  Gale,  "but  I  hate  a  fuss,  and  I  knew 
you  would  ask  a  great  many  questions.  How- 
ever, I  want  to  tell  you  this — you  esj^^eciaily,  my 
boy,"  and  he  glanced  toward  the  window,  "  that 
I  had  in  mind  the  fact  that  you  two  children 
are  growing  up  and  need  a  mother's  cars." 

"  I  hate  stepmothers,"  said  Dan  angiily. 

"Do  you?"  said  Mrs.  Gale  calmly.  "You 
won't  hate  me.  The  boys  have  been  cramming 
you  with  nonsense." 


222 


BUNNY  BOY 


"  No  they  haven't,"  said  Dan. 

"  Go  upstairs  to  your  room  and  see  what  your 
stepmother  has  brought  you  from  St.  John  and 
perhaps  you  won't  hate  her  so  decidedly,""  said 
Mr.  Gale. 

Diadem's  face  was  quivering.  "All  the  little 
girls  but  me  have  mothers,"  she  said,  putting 
the  cat  gently  on  the  floor.  "  Is  it  true  ?  Are 
you  my  very  own  mother  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gale. 

Diadem  ran  to  bury  her  face  in  her  lap. 
"  You  lovely,  lovely  darling  I "  Then  she  drew 
back  and  looked  at  her.  "Aren't  you  very 
young  to  get  married  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  look." 

"I  should  think,"  remarked  Diadem  to  her 
father,  *  that  you  would  like  an  old  woman." 

"You  naughty  Diadem,"  said  Mrs.  Gale, 
shaking  her  head  at  her ;  "  your  papa  isn't  an 
old  man.*" 

"  'Course  he  isn't,"  said  Diadem ;  "  he  runs  races 
like  a  boy  with  me  and  Dan.  Only,  old  women 
are  nice,  and  they  mend  your  clothes  and  get 
good  dinners  like  cook." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  send  Miss  Netta  away 
and  get  some  one  like  cook  i  "  asked  Mr.  Gale. 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  father ; "'  and  Diadem  stretched 
out  an  appealing  hand  toward  him.  "Don't 
send  her  away  now  we've  just  got  her,  she'll  be 
such  fun.     Will  you  ?  " 

'*  No,  I  don't  think  I  will,"  he  said. 

"  It's  time  to  go  to  school,"  said  Dan,  brush- 
ing by  her  as  he  went  toward  the  door. 


BUNNY  BOY 


223 


"  You  may  have  a  half-holiday  to-day  if  you 
like,"  said  Mr.  Gale. 

"I  don't  like,  sir,"  said  Dan  willfully;  and 
he  hurried  away. 

"What  will  you  do,  Diadem?"  asked  her 
father. 

The  child  looked  anxiously  after  her  brother. 
"  Dan  is  cross  about  something,"  she  said. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  with  him,"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Gale.  "  Netta  will  take  care  of  your 
cat  for  you.  Come  here,  pet,"  and  he  kissed 
her,  saying,  "  My  own  little  girl."  Then  he 
stood  by  his  wife  at  the  window,  watching  the 
two  children  hurrying  down  the  walk  to  the  gate. 

"  See  her  little  head  going,"  said  Mrs.  Gale. 
"She  is  remonstrating  with  him  and  enumer- 
ating the  advantages  connected  with  having  a 
stepmother.     Isn't  she  a  little  jewel  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  she  has  a  temper,"  said  Mr.  Gale, 
"  a  pretty  stifE  one  sometimes ;  but  you  will 
have  patience  with  her,  Netta." 

"  I'll  need  to,"  said  his  pretty  black-eyed  wife, 
"  for  I  have  one  myself." 

That  evening  Mrs.  Gale  left  her  husband  on 
the  front  veranda  and  went  all  over  the  house  in 
search  of  Diadem.  Finally,  while  looking  out 
at  one  of  the  windows  she  saw  her  sitting  on  a 
rustic  bench  under  one  of  the  elm  trees  at  the 
back  of  the  house. 

"What  are  you  doing  here  all  by  yourself?" 
she  asked,  going  out  to  her  and  seating  herself 
on  the  bench. 


224 


BUNNY  BOY 


"Just  talking  to  my  cat,"  said  the  little  girl 
placidly,  looking  down  at  Bunny  Boy  who  lay 
on  a  cushion  beside  her. 

"  Do  you  enjoy  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gale  curi- 
ously, "  sitting  here  with  no  company  but  this 
animal  ?  " 

"It's  better  than  a  party,"  said  Diadem 
dreamily.  "The  little  cat  is  unhappy,  he  is 
only  just  beginning  to  purr.  Do  you  know  his 
master  has  left  him?  That  makes  an  animal 
sorry.  Poor  little  Bunny  Boy.  I  shall  be  good 
to  you  and  wheel  the  cart  for  you." 

"  I  am  not  very  fond  of  animals "  said  Mrs. 
Gale. 

Diadem's  face  fell,  but  her  new  mother  put  her 
finger  under  her  chin  and  said  lightly.  "  Don't 
feel  badly,  little  girl ;  perhaps  you  can  educate 
me.     I  don't  know  anything  about  them." 

**  I'm  a  little  worried  about  Grum  Growdy," 
said  Diadem. 

Mrs.  Gale  began  to  laugh.  "  That  ridiculous 
bird ;  I  have  not  seen  him  to-day." 

"  Why  do  you  laugh  at  him  ?  "  asked  the  little 
girl. 

"  He  is  so  pompous  and  severe-looking ;  I 
cannot  realize  that  his  chief  delight  is  in  playing 
tricks." 

"He  is  very  jealous,"  said  Diadem  with  a 
sigh.     "  He  won't  like  you  and  Bunny  Boy." 

"  Let  us  hope  that  he  will  soon  get  over  it," 
said  Mrs.  Gale.     "  Where  is  Dan  ?  " 

"He  has  gone  off  to  play  with  some  boys," 
said  Diadem.     "  He  has  just  left  me." 


BUNNY   BOY 


225 


» 


"Oh,  that  is  why  you  did  not  come  and  sit 
with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Gale,  gently  pinching  the  tip 
of  one  of  Diadem^s  pink  ears.  "  You  are  a  good 
little  sister ;  will  you  come  now  ?  " 

"  He  will  soon  be  back,"  said  Diadem. 

"  Well,  then  I  will  bear  you  company  till  we 
hear  him  returning.  Tell  me  more  about  your 
animals,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  Grum  Growdy  now  and  Bunny 
Boy,"  said  Diadem.  "  Oh  yes,  and  I  have  the 
blackbirds." 

"  The  blackbirds !  can  you  pet  them  ?  " 

"I  don't  exactly  pet  them,"  said  Diadem. 
"  But  when  the  little  ones  fall  out  of  the  trees  I 
put  them  back." 

"  I  didn't  know  birds  ever  did  such  a  thing. 
Why  don't  the  parents  keep  them  in  ?  " 

"  I'll  have  to  explain,"  said  Diadem,  looking 
up  at  the  branching  elm  above  them.  "You 
know  big  birds  are  like  fathers  and  mothers. 
They  have  to  work  for  their  little  children  and 
when  they  go  out  in  the  morning  I  suppose  they 
say  to  them,  '  Birdies,  be  good  and  stay  in  the 
nest  till  I  come  home,'  but  the  little  birds  are 
like  children  again  and  they  don't  mind  their 
parents.  They  get  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  and 
looking  out  they  say,  *  I  think  I  will  try  to  bop 
on  another  branch,'  but  they  fall,  and  when  they 
find  themselves  on  the  ground  they  cry  for  the 
old  birds  to  come  and  pick  them  up." 

"How  very  odd,"  said  Mrs.  Gale;  "I  never 
heard  of  this.  I  suppose  it  is  because  my  life  has 
been  mostly  spent  in  a  city." 

p 


226 


BUNNY  BOY 


"  Then  cats  come  along,"  said  Diadem,  "  and 
very  sad  things  happen." 

"  I  suppose  they  eat  them." 

"  When  they  find  them  they  do ;  but  first  the 
cat  roams  all  about,  searching  in  the  long  grass 
for  the  little  birds  that  peep  to  the  old  ones,  and 
the  old  ones  are  nearly  crazy  and  swoop  down 
pecking  at  the  cat  and  brushing  it  with  their 
wings  to  try  to  frighten  it  away.  They  are  such 
good  mothers  and  fathers." 

"  And  what  do  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  run  whenever  I  hear  the  blackbirds  call- 
ing, and  they  know  me,  and  cook  brings  a  chair 
and  stands  on  it  and  puts  the  little  bird  on  a 
twig,  and  it  goes  step  by  step  up  near  its  nest, 
where  it  hears  the  old  ones  calling  to  it." 

"  Doesn't  it  go  into  the  nest  ?  " 

"  No ;  when  a  little  bird  once  falls  out  it  does 
not  go  back  again.  I  think  it  sits  near  its 
parents  all  night." 

"How  interesting,"  said  Mrs.  Gale.  "Tell 
me  something  more  about  your  birds,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  There  is  one  very  unkind  thing  they  do  that 
makes  me  ashamed  of  them,"  said  Diadem. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Why,  they  push  little  weak  birds  out  of  the 
nest." 

"Which  does  it?" 

"  I  guess  it  must  be  the  father,"  said  Diadem 
innocently.  "  I  don't  see  how  the  mother  could 
do  such  a  thing." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  her  mother ;  "  but  perhaps  there 


BUNNY  BOY 


227 


there 

V 


are  bad  blackbirds  just  as  there  are  bad  men 
and  women." 

"I  think  that  must  be  so,"  said  Diadem. 


"Anyway,  I  find  little  sick  birds  on  the  ground 
with  their  feathers  all  ruffled,  and  I  take  them 
in  the  house  and  feed  them  and  powder  them." 

" Powder  them,"  repeated  Mrs.  Gale.  "What 
is  that  for?" 

Diadem  laughed  merrily.  "  Oh,  it  is  such  a 
funny  sight.  Miss  Netta." 

"  You  mustn't  call  me  Miss  Netta  now,"  inter- 
rupted Mrs.  Gale.     "  What  will  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Diadem  with  a  puz- 
zled face.  "You  seem  too  young  to  be  just 
mother,  and  yet  I  feel  as  if  you  were  my 
mother." 

"  Call  me  Mother  Netta,  then." 

"  That  is  just  the  thing,"  and  Diadem  reached 
out  a  hand  to  squeeze  Mrs.  Gale's  fingers,  "  dear 
Mother  Netta." 

Mrs.  Gale  laughed  too ;  then  she  said:  "Please 
continue  about  the  powdering  of  the  birds." 

"  It  is  this  way,"  said  Diadem.  "  You  know. 
Mother  Netta,  that  young  birds  in  nests  can't 
take  baths  like  old  ones,  but  they  can  keep 
themselves  clean  by  pecking  themselves  with 
their  beaks  or  by  having  their  parents  do  it. 
Well,  when  a  bird  gets  ill  it  neglects  itself  and 
its  parents  neglect  it,  and  horrid  little  red  things 
get  on  it  and  worry  it,  and  when  it  falls  out  on 
the  grass  I  find  these  vermin  all  over  it.  That 
is  when  I  put  on  the  powder  which  kills  them. 
The  little  bird  gets  back  its  strength  and  I  feed 


228 


BUNNY  BOY 


it,  and  when  it  is  well  I  put  it  on  a  tree  and  it 
climbs  up  and  goes  to  its  parents." 

"Hush,"  said  Mrs.  Gale  suddenly,  "there  is 
some  one  calling  you." 

While  they  had  been  talking  it  had  become 
quite  dark,  but  it  was  a  warm  night  so  they  had 
not  gone  into  the  house. 

"It  is  Dan,"  said  Diadem,  "he  has  come 
home ; "  and  clasping  Bunny  Boy  to  her  breast 
she  got  up  and  went  toward  the  back  door. 

"Why,  Dan,"  Mrs.  Gale  heard  her  exclaim; 
then  she  too  rose  and  approached  the  boy. 

Diadem  had  drawn  him  into  the  rays  of  light 
that  streamed  out  through  the  open  kitchen 
door. 

Such  a  sorry-looki ug  object  as  the  boy  was, 
coat  hung  over  his  arm,  his  shirt  torn,  his  face 
bruised,  his  hair  disordered,  and  his  mouth, 
against  which  he  pressed  a  handkerchief,  was 
cut  and  bleeding. 

"  Have  you  been  fighting  ?  "  asked  Diadem. 

"  Yes,"  he  mumbled. 

"  Oh,  you  poor  boy,"  said  Diadem  in  a  mothr 
erly  tone.  "  Come  into  the  kitchen  and  I  will 
attend  to  you." 

Dan  drew  back.  "  No,  I  don't  want  any  one 
to  see  me.  Is  that  Miss  Netta?"  And  he 
peered  through  the  darkness  at  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  Diadem ;  "  but  she  won't  tell. 
Come  upstairs;"  and  she  ran  nimbly  into  the 
house  and  up  the  back  stairway  to  Dan's  room. 

She  was  lighting  the  lamp  as  he  entered. 


(( 


BUNNY  BOY 


229 


"  I*m  in  a  fearful  mess,"  he  muttered,  throw- 
ing his  cap  on  the  bed  and  surveying  himself 
in  the  glass.  "  Just  look  at  my  lips,  they're  like 
a  dozen  ordinary  ones." 

"  I  wish  boys  wouldn't  fight  you,"  said  Dia- 
dem, averting  her  glance  from  his  swollen  mouth, 
while  she  looked  in  a  drawer  for  a  case  of  court 
plaster  that  had  on  it  the  words,  **I  cure  all 
wounds  but  those  of  love." 

"  I  told  you  I'd  try  not  to  fight  any  more," 
said  Dan  gruffly,  "  but  I  just  had  to  this  time ; 
you'd  say  so  too  if  you  knew." 

"  It's  b—b— brutal  to  fight,"  sobbed  Diadem, 
trying  to  wink  away  the  tears  in  her  eyes  so  that 
she  could  see  to  cut  the  plaster.  "  I  wish  boys 
wouldn't  tease  you." 

"  It's  my  fault  as  much  as  theirs,"  said  Dan, 
"  except  to-night,"  he  added  doggedly ;  "  I  was 
nagged." 

A  few  minutes  later  his  hands  and  face  were 
washed,  his  hair  was  brushed,  and  his  lips  were 
ornamented  with  narrow  strips  of  pink  plaster. 

"Now  you  look  better,"  said  Diadem  with 
satisfaction. 

"  Yes ;  but  I'm  still  a  sight,"  said  Dan  shortly. 
"  I  can't  go  downstairs.  Get  me  my  books,  will 
you,  like  a  daisy;  I'll  have  to  study  up  here 
to-night." 

"  Your  eyes  are  very  red,"  said  Diadem.  "  I'll 
read  your  lessons  to  you  if  you  will  help  me  with 
the  hard  words.     I  know  mine." 

"All  right,"  said  Dan,  throwing  himself  into 
an  arm-chair  and  trying  to  look  like  his  father. 


\ 


230 


BUNNY  BOY 


"I  wish  all  the  fellows  had  a  sister  like  you. 
I'll  not  fight  any  more,  honor  bright,  unless  the 
same  thing  happens  again.'' 

Bunny  Boy  walked  daintily  along  the  bed  and 
rubbed  his  head  against  Dan's  arm. 

"  Poor  pussy,"  said  Dan,  stroking  him.  "  Poor 
young  pussy ;  lost  your  master,  did  you  ?  Well, 
you  have  fallen  into  good  hands.  Diadem  will 
pet  you  till  you  don't  know  whether  you  are  a 
cat  or  a  king." 

When  Mrs.  Gale  left  the  children,  she  went 
into  the  parlor  and  took  a  seat  in  a  dusky  corner. 
She  was  thinking  deeply  and  paid  no  attention 
to  the  sound  of  voices  and  occasional  laughter 
that  floated  in  to  her  from  the  veranda  except 
once,  when  she  murmured  to  herself  that  her 
husband  must  have  a  caller. 

After  a  while  she  heard  the  sound  of  her  own 
name  in  Mr.  Gale's  voice.  "Netta,  Netta, 
where  are  you  ?  " 

"I  am  here,"  she  said;  and  her  husband, 
stepping  in  through  the  open  window,  felt  his 
way  across  the  room  like  a  blind  man  till  he 
reached  the  sofa  where  she  sat. 

"Are  you  homesick,"  he  asked,  "sitting  here 
alone  ?    I  thought  you  were  with  the  children." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  not  homesick ;  I 
have  been  sitting  with  Diadem  till  she  left  me 
to  go  to  Dan.     What  are  you  laughing  about  ?  " 

"  I  ought  not  to  laugh ;  it  is  a  wrong  thing 
in  view  of  the  circumstances,"  said  Mr.  Gale, 
with  another  chuckle,  "  but  really  it  is  too  ab- 
surd." 


BUNNY  BOY 


231 


» 


"  What  is  absurd  ?  " 

"Dan  has  been  fighting  for  you,  my  dear. 
Sanders,  who  has  just  been  in,  was  telling  me 
about  it.  He  saw  and  heard  the  whole  thing 
from  his  window.  Some  of  the  boys,  Dan 
among  them,  were  playing  baseball  in  a  field 
near  by,  and  in  the  course  of  the  game  the 
coacher  told  Dan  to  run  as  if  his  stepmother 
was  after  him.  The  reference  displeased  Dan, 
and  he  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue,  which  the 
coacher  wouldn*t  do.  After  the  game  they 
appealed  to  their  fists.  Of  course  Dan  got 
whipped,  for  the  coacher  is  a  big  fellow.  How- 
ever, Sanders  says  that  public  sentiment  was 
with  Dan,  for  he  nobly  vindicated  the  right  of 
a  boy  to  have  a  stepmother  and  to  approve  of 
her  if  he  wishes  to  do  so ;  and  three  cheers  for 
Dan's  stepmother  were  given  by  the  lads  lest  he 
should  feel  cast  down  by  his  defeat.  He  has 
been  the  terrible  fighter  among  the  small  boys 
till  Diamond  and  I  persuaded  him  to  stop.  I 
hope  he  isn't  going  to  break  out  again." 

"  I  thought  he  didn't  like  me,"  said  Mrs.  Gale 
quietly. 

"  Oh,  yes  he  does,  he  is  delighted  with  you ; 
but  he  is  as  stubborn  as  I  am,  and  being  older 
than  Diadem,  he  guessed  how  things  were  going, 
and  being  piqued  because  I  did  not  consult  him, 
made  up  his  mind,  as  many  children  do,  that  a 
stepmother,  because  she  is  a  stepmother,  must 
necessarily  be  disagreeable.  You  should  have 
seen  his  face  this  morning  when  I  told  him  that 
you  refused  to  take  a  wedding  trip  because  you 


23a 


BUNNY  BOY 


knew  it  might  cause  him  and  Diadem  to  fancy 
that  you  were  taking  their  father  from  them.  I 
knew  that  he  felt  sorry  for  his  shabby  treatment 
of  you.  Give  him  time,  give  him  time,  my 
dear,  and  he  will  come  around." 

Mrs.  Gale  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
she  got  up,  and  drawing  her  hand  from  her  hus- 
band's, said,  "Good-bye  for  a  little  while." 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I  wish  to  see  whether  Diadem  is  in  bed.  It 
seems  to  me  that  she  sits  up  rather  late  for  a 
little  girl." 

"  Of  course  she  does,"  returned  Mr.  Gale.  "  I 
told  you  that  she  isn't  properly  looked  after. 
The  servants  spoil  her." 

Mrs.  Gale  went  dancing  upstairs  just  as  Dan 
and  Diadem  were  accustomed  to  do,  and  her 
husband  smiled  as  he  stood  in  the  lighted  hall 
and  watched  her. 

Diadem  sat  curled  up  in  a  chair  reading  in  a 
sleepy  voice  to  Dan,  who  had  undressed  and 
gotten  into  bed. 

He  pulled  the  clothes  up  over  his  head  when 
he  saw  his  mother  coming,  but  she  did  not  look 
at  him. 

**  Don't  you  want  to  go  to  bed.  Diadem  ?  "  she 
asked.    "  It  is  getting  late.    I  will  read  to  Dan." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  boy  hastily ;  "  put  out  the 
lights.  Diadem,  and  go  away.   I  know  everything 


now. 


)» 


The  little  girl  rose,  and  pressing  her  red  lips 
together  to  keep  from  yawning,  kissed  Dan  good- 
night 


BUNNY  BOY 


333 


''  I  will  put  out  the  lamp/*  said  Mrs.  Gale. 
**  And  Diadeni)  after  you  are  undressed  I  will 
come  and  read  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  Mother  Netta,"  said  the  little 
girl.  "I  will  keep  awake  till  you  come."  And 
she  went  to  her  room. 

"  So  you  fought  for  me,  did  you  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Gale,  going  up  to  the  bed  and  gently  drawing 
the  sheet  away  from  Dan's  disfigured  face." 

"Yes,"  he  growled;  "but  don't  look  at  me 
unless  you  want  to  get  a  fright.  My  right  eye 
is  closed,  and  my  mouth  feels  as  if  it  was  half 
way  up  my  cheek." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  kiss  you,  anyway,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale,  "  and  say  I  am  much  obliged  to  you ; 
but- 


» 


"  But  you  don't  want  me  to  do  it  again,"  said 
Dan.  "  I  know,  you  women  are  all  alike.  Well, 
I'll  tell  you,  I'll  lick  any  fellow  who  says  a  word 
against  you  if  it  takes  me  all  my  time  and  if  my 
mouth  wriggles  round  to  the  back  of  my  neck, 
so  you  needn't  talk. ' 

"Do  you  enjoy  fighting?"  asked  Mrs.  Gale 
curiously.     "  I  don't  know  much  about  boys." 

"  I  enjoy  getting  at  a  fellow  that  makes  me 
mad,"  said  Dan.  "  I  wish  you  would  leave  me 
alone  now ;  I  don't  like  to  have  you  looking  at 


me. 


)j 


"  May  I  read  to  you  first  if  I  turn  my  back  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Gale. 

"  Yes,  if  it  don't  take  long.    My  head- 


»» 


(C 


"  Your  head  aches,  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Gale. 
How  stupid  I  am." 


234 


BUNNY  BOY 


"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Dan.  *^  I  wish  I  had 
not  mentioned  it." 

**  I  know  something  that  will  cure  it,  said 
Mrs.  Gale.     "  Just  wait  an  instant." 

She  fairly  flew  out  of  the  room  and  returned 
with  a  bottle  of  something  cool  that  she  rubbed 
gently  on  his  forehead. 

Dan  pretended  that  he  did  not  like  to  have 
her  kneeling  beside  his  bed  and  waiting  on  him, 
but  she  said,  "  Hush,  you  funny  boy ;  I  like  to 
have  my  own  way  too.  I  shall  not  leave  you 
while  you  are  suffering.  Now  I  am  going  to  sing 
you  to  sleep.  You  are  too  tired  to  listen  to  a 
Bible  story  this  evening." 

Mrs.  Gale  sang  one  hymn  after  another — good 
old  hymns  that  Dan  had  heard  since  he  was  a 
baby.  His  little  dogged  face  grew  peaceful  and 
happy;  and  at  last  he  murmured,  "My  own 
mother  used  to  sing  like  that  to  me." 

"  Did  she  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gale.  Then  she  added 
softly,  "  Your  mother  was  a  very  good  woman. 
I  shall  be  happy  if  I  can  be  half  so  good." 

"  You  are  young  yet,"  said  Dan  encouragingly ; 
"perhaps  you  will  be  later  on." 

Mrs.  Gale  suppressed  a  smile ;  then  she  asked 
him  if  his  head  was  better. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "my  headache  is  gone; 
but  I  would  not  tell  you  before  because  I  liked 
to  hear  you  sing.  When  I  listen  to  you  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  toe  the  mark  all  the  time ;  but  in  the 
morning  it  will  pass  away  I  suppose." 

"  I  will  just  sing  one  more  hymn,"  said  Mrs. 
Gale,   "about    the  wandering   sheep  and  the 


BUNNY  BOY 


335 


shepherd.  I  am  a  very  poor  Christian  myself, 
Dan ;  but  I  know  the  Good  Shepherd  will  keep 
me  in  the  fold  if  I  ask  him.  Shall  I  ask  him 
for  you  too  ?  " 

**  Yes,"  said  Dan,  "  I  wish  you  would." 
Mrs.  Gale  knelt  by  his  bed  and  put  up  a  prayer 
to  the  loving  Shepherd  for  the  safe  keeping  of 
two  wandering  lambs,  then  she  tucked  him  in 
and  left  him  to  a  dreamless  slumber. 


Diadem  fell  asleep  that  evening  with  one  arm 
thrown  protectingly  around  Bunny  Boy  who 
politely  remained  within  his  shelter  till  he  saw 
that  his  young  mistress  would  not  be  aware  of 
his  departure. 

He  had  noticed  that  the  door  had  been  left 
slightly  ajar  and  jumping  on  the  floor  he  went 
in  search  of  the  boy  who  had  reminded  him  a 
little  of  the  dear  gentle  lad  who  had  died  and 
gone  to  heaven. 

True,  Larry  had  been  a  frail  and  delicate  lad, 
while  Dan  was  sturdy  in  appearance  and  man- 
ners ;  but  he  was  a  boy,  and  strange  to  say,  to 
boys  rather  than  to  girls,  did  the  affections  of  this 
timid  little  cat  go  out. 

He  walked  delicately  across  the  hall,  stepped 
over  the  threshold  of  the  door  and  sprang  quietly 
on  Dan^s  bed. 

First,  he  walked  up  to  the  pillow  to  make 
sure  that  it  was  the  boy  he  wanted,  then  with 
a  quiet  purr  of  delight  he  touched  him  with  his 
pink  nose,  and  curling  up  on  the  foot  of  the  bed 
went  to  sleep. 


236 


BUNNY  BOY 


Cats  do  not  sleep  so  long  at  night  as  girls  and 
boys  do,  perhaps  because  they  have  so  many 
naps  through  the  day,  and  by  sunrise  Bunny 
Boy  had  opened  his  eyes  and  was  listening  to 
the  birds  waking  up  in  the  trees  outside.  He 
heard  at  first  faint  twitterings  as  if  the  robins 
and  blackbirds  were  saying  to  each  other,  "  Time 
to  get  up,  time  to  get  up."  Then  at  last  there 
were  lower  notes  and  snatches  of  song,  and  soon 
the  older  birds  were  all  away  looking  for  break- 
fast for  the  younger  ones,  which  were  peeping 
and  calling  to  them  from  their  nests. 

Bunny  Boy  felt  no  temptation  to  go  out  to 
catch  them.  He  was  a  cat  that  never  hunted 
birds  and  mice,  so  he  lay  perfectly  still  blinking 
at  the  sunlight  streaming  into  the  room,  and 
occasionally  glancing  at  Dan  who  lay  motionless 
and  sleeping  as  if  he  never  meant  to  wake. 

After  an  hour  or  two  his  quick  ear  heard  a 
slight  sound.  He  looked  up  and  there  in  the 
doorway  stood  a  large,  black  bird  with  a  strong 
beak  and  a  fierce  eye — and  the  eye  was  fixed 
upon  him,  he  was  sorry  to  see. 

Bunny  Boy  stared  uneasily  at  him,  and  the 
huge  bird  stared  angrily  at  him.  This  was  the 
bad  Grum  Growdy, — ^the  raven  which  had  been 
given  Diadem, — ^the  bird  which  was  so  naughty 
that  no  one  could  manage  him. 

Grum  Growdy*s  stern  glance  seemed  to  say, 
"  Ah,  my  enemy,  I  have  found  you — ^you  are  the 
new  pet.  Well,  I  shall  make  you  sorry  for  com- 
ing to  this  house."  Step  by  step  he  walked 
across  the  floor,  took  hold  of  the  bedclothes 


BUNNY  BOY 


837 


with  his  beak  and  swung  himself  up  on  the 
bed. 

Bunny  Boy  was  alarmed  and  crept  close  to 
Dan's  head,  but  Grum  Growdy  was  not  afraid  of 
Dan,  and  waddling  over  the  white  counterpane 
he  came  close  to  the  little  frightened  cat  and 
without  uttering  a  sound  seized  the  tip  of  his 
tail  in  his  beak  and  tweaked  it  so  painfully  that 
Bunny  Boy  gave  one  fearful  shriek  and  sprang 
under  the  bed  clothes. 

Dan  started  up.  "  You  old  rowdy,"  he  ex- 
claimed, winking  sleepily  at  Grum  Growdy, 
"  what  are  you  doing  here,  and  what  is  this  ? 
Bunny  Boy,  you  here  too?  Oh,  I  see,  Grum 
Growdy  has  been  bullying  you.  Get  out,  you 
scamp."    And  he  lightly  boxed  the  raven's  ears. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  said  the  raven  scornfully,  and  fly- 
ing up  on  a  picture  he  looked  down  attentively 
at  Dan  and  Bunny  Boy,  who  had  thrust  out  his 
head  to  glance  fearfully  at  him. 

"  Ha,  ha,  indeed,"  said  the  boy ;  **  you  impu- 
dent fellow,  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  beating 
some  day.  What  do  you  mean  by  being  so 
ugly  ?  " 

"  Nicely,  thank  you,"  said  the  raven,  sitting 
on  one  claw  and  putting  up  the  other  to  scratch 
his  ear. 

"Get  away,  you  bad  thing,"  and  springing 
from  his  bed  Dan  chased  the  raven  out  through 
the  window  and  closed  it. 

"  Now,  Bunny  Boy,  you  may  come  out,"  he 
said,  and  all  the  time  he  was  dressing  he  kept 
talking  to  the  frightened  animal. 


i  I 


i! 


238 


BUNNY  BOY 


When  he  went  down  to  breakfast  Bunny  Boy 
was  on  his  shoulder.  He  had  told  Diadem  that 
the  cat  was  with  him,  so  she  was  not  alarmed 
by  the  absence  of  her  pet. 

Young  Mrs.  Gale  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table 
laughing  convulsively  at  Grum  Growdy,  who 
was  perched  on  the  window  sill  looking  at  her. 
Being  a  bird  no  one  had  considered  it  worth 
while  to  notify  him  of  her  marriage,  and  he  had 
just  discovered  the  astonishing  fact  that  during 
his  absence  from  home  on  the  previous  day  a 
woman  as  well  as  a  cat  had  been  introduced  into 
the  house. 

One  could  tell  by  his  actions  that  he  was 
highly  displeased.  He  stared  at  her,  then  at 
Mr.  Gale  and  the  children,  then  he  struck  the 
window  frame  sharply  with  his  beak  and  re- 
peated a  great  many  times  the  word  "  veb."  . 

"  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gale. 

"  Nobody  knows  what  *  veb '  means,"  said 
Diadem.  "  Grum  Crowdy  just  says  it  when  he 
is  angry.  I  will  talk  to  him  and  you  listen  and 
hear  how  queer  he  is.  Poor  old  Grum  Growdy," 
she  said,  turning  her  head  toward  the  window. 
"  Did  they  bring  a  pretty  lady  to  the  house  when 
you  were  away  and  make  you  angiy." 

"Veb,  veb,"  said  the  raven  hoarsely. 

"  But  you  must  like  her,  Growdy  dear,  and  try 
to  be  good  to  her." 

"Veb,  veb,  veb,"  said  the  bird  furiously,  strik- 
ing the  window  ledge  with  his  beak. 

"  He  is  getting  worse,  Diadem  ;  you  had  better 
not  stir  him  up,"  said  Mr.  Gale.     "  Here,  old  fel- 


it 


BUNNY  BOY 


2^39 


low,  have  some  porridge,  *'  and  mixing  cream  and 
sugar  with  some  he  took  from  his  plate  he  put 
it  on  the  window. 

Grum  Growdy  uttered  a  gratified  caw  and  dip- 
ping his  beak  in  it  threw  back  his  head  and 
quickly  swallowed  all  that  had  been  given  to 
him.  Then  he  took  a  long  breath,  swelled  out 
his  sides  and  uttered  a  succession  of  rasping 
cries  that  made  Mrs.  Gale  put  her  hands  to  her 
ears  and  say  :  "  Oh,  what  a  noise !  does  he  often 
do  that?" 

"  Yes,  unfortunately,"  said  Mr.  Gale.  "  Quick, 
Dan,  give  him  something  from  your  plate — ^some 
meat  he  will  like." 

"It  is  queer.  Mother  Netta,"  said  Diadem, 
"  but  you  know  we  said  birds  are  just  like  peo- 
ple, some  are  good  and  some  are  bad." 

"  Grum  Growdy  would  have  been  a  bad  old 
robber  or  a  bully  if  he  had  been  a  man,"  said 
Dan.  "  It  it  hadn't  been  for  Diadem  he  would 
have  been  shot  long  ago.  People  hate  to  have 
him  steal  their  things." 

"  Some  of  them  laugh  at  him,"  said  Diadem, 
"  and  perhaps  he  will  be  a  better  bird  some  day. 
He  is  good  part  of  the  time  now." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Gale,  "  don*t  be  too  hard  on 
him,  Dan." 

"  I  am  not  hard  on  him,"  said  the  boy,  "  I  am 
only  stating  truths.  I  believe  he  would  have 
half  killed  Bunny  Boy  this  morning  if  I  had 
not  been  near." 

"He  will  get  used  to  him,"  said  Diadem; 
"just  wait  for  a  few  weeks,  Dan." 


240 


BUNNY  BOY 


"  What  kind  of  bad  things  does  he  do  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Gale.  "  I  have  never  heard  of  anything 
but  his  flying  about  the  town  and  occasionally 
snatching  up  some  bright  article  that  pleased 
him." 

"  He  frightens  the  robins  nearly  to  death,"  said 
Dan.  "  You  should  just  hear  them  chattering 
when  he  gets  up  into  a  tree  where  their  nests 
are,  and  he  listens  to  them  and  laughs,  '  ha,  ha,* 
fit  to  kill  himself." 

"  Does  he  hurt  the  young  ones  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Gale. 

"No,  because  we  feed  him  well,"  said  her 
husband  ;  "  he  simply  enjoys  teasing  them." 

"  Tell  Mother  Netta  about  the  political  meet- 
ing, father,"  said  Diadem. 

Mr.  Gale  began  to  laugh.  "  Yes,  that  was 
funny.  You  " — ^addressing  his  wife — "  hadn't 
come  to  Fredericton  then.  There  was  a  politi- 
cal gathering  held  out  of  doors  on  the  big  grass 
square  in  front  of  the  legislative  buildings  be- 
cause there  was  no  hall  large  enough  to  contain 
the  people.  It  was  a  lovely  day  and  a  lovely 
sight  to  see  the  crowd  down  there  under  the 
trees  by  the  river.  We  all  went.  Diadem,  Dan, 
and  I,  and  to  our  discomfiture  Grum  Growdy 
went  too,  flying  over  us  and  stopping  every  little 
while  to  clean  his  beak  against  some  twig  and 
give  a  caw  of  satisfaction,  for  he  had  had  a  re- 
markably good  dinner.  He  perched  just  over 
us  on  an  elm  tree  and  I  sincerely  hoped  that  he 
would  hold  his  tongue.  He  didn't,  fortunately 
or  unfortunately. 


BUNNY   BOY 


241 


"  There  was  a  number  of  speakers ;  the  two 
most  important  ones  came  last.  While  the 
honorable  gentleman  on  my  side  of  the  question 
was  speaking  Gnim  Growdy  said  never  a  word, 
but  when  the  other  candidate  opened  his  mouth 
Grum  Growdy  called  out  contemptuously,  *  Bosh'. 
The  crowd  recognized  his  voice  and  went  off 
into  fits  of  laughter.  '  Ha,  ha,'  screamed  Grum 
Growdy ;  'shut  up,  shut  up.' 

"  The  poor  man  could  hardly  get  a  hearing. 
He  did,  however,  persevere  with  his  speech,  but 
the  effect  was  lost,  for  Grum  Growdy  would  not 
be  driven  away  and  kept  interrupting  him." 

"  A  mischievous  bird,"  said  Mrs.  Gale.  "  How 
am  I  to  get  him  to  like  m'l  ?  " 

"  Speak  fair  words  to  him,"  said  her  husband, 
"and  wear  a  red  gown,  if  you  have  one.  He 
loves  that  color  as  I  do." 

"  I  have  one  and  I  shall  put  it  on,"  said  his 
wife. 


Mrs.  Gale  was  married  on  a  Wednesday.  On 
Sunday  morning  she  went  to  church  with  her 
husband  and  the  children,  and  instead  of  going 
into  the  house  when  she  came  home  she  sat  on 
the  veranda  with  Dan. 

Mr.  Gale  and  Diadem  had  gone  to  the  dining 
room  to  get  some  ice-water,  for  it  was  a  warm 
day  and  they  both  were  thirsty. 

When  Diadem  came  hurrying  back  she  threw 
herself  on  a  cushion  at  her  mother's  feet. 

Mrs.  Gale  leaned  over  and  took  off  the  little 
girl's  hat     "  Do  you  know,  Diadem,"  she  said 

Q 


242 


BUNNY  BOY 


touching  with  gentle  fingers  the  stuffed  bird  in 
the  pretty  white  hat,  "you  do  one  thing  that 
seems  to  me  rather  odd  in  a  lover  of  birds." 

"  What  is  that,  Mother  Netta  ?  " 

"  You  wear  birds'  skins  and  feathers  in  your 
hats." 

"  But  when  the  poor  little  things  die,  it  does 
not  matter,"  said  Diadem.  "  I  like  to  have  them 
about  me." 

"I  don't  see  much  beauty  in  dead  things," 
said  Mrs.  Gale ;  "  but  like  you.  Diadem,  I  did  not 
know  or  think  anything  about  the  subject  till 
yesterday,  when  I  was  reading  a  book  about 
birds." 

*'  Is  it  a  nice  book  ?  "  asked  Diadem  eagerly, 
"  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

"  You  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Gale ;  "  there  are  some 
delightful  stories  in  it,  and  some  that  are  pain- 
ful to  read.  I  think  I  can  tell  you  in  a  few 
words  what  I  read  that  made  me  think  of  you. 
In  the  first  place.  Diadem,  for  what  purpose  do 
you  think  that  birds  were  put  in  the  world  ?  " 

"Oh,  to  be  happy  and  beautiful,"  said  the 
little  girl  warmly.  "  The  robins  are  so  dear ;  I 
love  the  shy  cuckoo  that  calls  in  the  cemetery, 
and  the  swallows  with  their  pointed  wings  that 
skim  about  the  church ;  but  best  of  all  I  love  my 
blackbirds.  They  look  as  if  they  polished  them- 
selves every  morning — that  shining  ring  around 
their  necks  is  so  sweet.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if 
I  should  scream  because  I  cannot  get  hold  of 
them  to  squeeze  them." 

"A  precious  little  goose  you  make  of  your- 


tt 


BUNNY  BOY 


«43 


self,"  said  Dan  good-naturedly,  "kissing  and 
fussing  over  the  young  birds.  I  like  the  night 
hawks  best  of  all,  Netta.  It  is  fine  to  hear  them 
swoop  down  when  we  are  sitting  here  after  tea. 
We  had  a  fellow  here  from  St.  John  one  evening 
and  he  would  not  believe  that  they  made  that 
noise  with  their  wings.     He  said  it  was  a  cry." 

"  But  birds  have  something  to  do  in  the  world 
besides  being  pretty,  haven't  they  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Gale. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  Dan,  "  they  catch  insects.^ 

"  Suppose  there  were  no  birds  in  the  world," 
said  Mrs.  Gale. 

"  I  guess  it  would  go  hard  with  boys,"  said 
Dan.  "They  would  have  to  stay  home  from 
school  to  pick  grubs  from  off  the  growing  things." 

"If  there  were  no  birds  in  the  world  there 
would  be  no  boys  nor  any  grown  people,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale  earnestly.  "  We  could  not  live  with- 
out them,  and  I  think  it  is  perfectly  horrible  that 
so  many  are  killed  every  year." 

"  Boys  don't  kill  birds  here,"  said  Diadem ; 
"  they  are  very  good  to  them." 

"  It  is  not  the  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Gale,  shaking 
her  head.  "It  is  women,  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
— good,  gentle  mothers,  the  book  says  many  of 
them  are." 

Diadem  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  "I 
don't  understand,  Mother  Netta.  Ladies  don't 
hurt  birds  here." 

Mrs.  Gale  touched  the  pink  bird  in  Diadem's 
hat.     "  Where  did  you  get  this,  little  girl  ?  " 

"  From  the  milliner." 


I 


8 


! 


244 


BUNNY  BOY 


"And  where  did  the  milliner  get  it?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  Diadem  slowly. 
"  It  is  not  a  Fredericton  bird." 

"  No,  I  think  it  came  from  the  South,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale.  "  How  many  birds  do  you  suppose 
the  hunters  kill  every  year  for  the  women  of 
America  and  their  children  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  many,"  said  Diadem. 

"  Five  millions  of  birds." 

The  immense  number  conveyed  no  idea  to  the 
little  girl's  mind,  and  she  stared  blankly  at  her 
mother. 

"  Suppose  you  saw  twenty  dead  blackbirds  on 
this  veranda,"  said  Mrs  Gale. 

"Please  stop.  Mother  Netta,"  cried  Diadem. 
"  Those  are  more  birds  than  I  have  in  my  little 
cemetery.  Twenty  dead  birds — oh,  I  should  cry 
if  I  saw  them." 

Mrs.  Gale  drew  a  long  breath.  "  This  subject 
is  new  to  me,"  she  said,  "  and  I  don't  want  to 
pain  you.  Diadem,  but  I  think  you  would  like 
me  to  make  my  point." 

"  I  see,"  exclaimed  Dan ;  "  the  women  don't 
think.  Here  you,  Diadem,  pretend  to  love  birds 
and  yet  you  stick  a  murdered  one  in  your  hat. 
If  you  wouldn't  wear  it  the  milliner  wouldn't 
buy  it,  and  the  men  wouldn't  kill  it." 

"That  is  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gale. 
"Please  give  me  your  knife,"  said  Diadem 
with  a  sob. 

The  boy  handed  a  penknife  to  her  and  she 
hastily  ripped  the  little  stuffed  bird  from  her  hat 
and  placed  her  hands  over  its  glassy  eyes. 


at 


BTJNNY  BOY 


«45 


"  Let  us  go  and  bury  it,"  she  said. 

Dan  gave  a  comical  glance  over  his  shoulder 
at  his  stepmother,  then  followed  her  willingly 
enough. 

"Where  are  the  children  going?"  asked  Mr. 
Gale,  suddenly  appearing  in  the  doorway. 

"  I  have  been,  talking  to  Diadem  about  wear- 
ing lirds  in  her  hats, — ^you  know  how  tender- 
hearted she  is  about  them, — ^and  she  has  gone  to 
bury  the  one  that  was  the  subject  of  my  discourse." 

"  I  often  think  that  you  women  are  very  un- 
reasoning creatures,"  said  Mr.  Gale.  "  You  are 
so  kind  and  gentle  and  yet  you  do  such  cruel 
things  without  for  an  instant  intending  to  be 
cruel.  I  have  thought  this  subject  all  out.  It 
seems  a  mockery  to  me  to  see  women  sitting  in 
church  singing 

Oh,  for  the  tenderness  of  hear^ 
Which  bows  before  the  Lord, 

while  their  heads  are  adorned  with  his  murdered 
creatures,  and  their  horses  stand  outside  with 
their  heads  checked  up  till  their  necks  are  ready 
to  break ;  and  you  bring  your  daughters  up  in 
the  same  way.  Men  are  powerless,  for  women 
set  the  fashions." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mt6.  Gale  in  a  low  voice.  "  It 
makes  me  ashamed  of  myself ;  but  I  shall  wear 
no  more  birds  now  that  I  have  looked  into  the 
matter.  I  did  not  dare  tell  Diadem  of  the  way  in 
which  the  birds  are  killed  at  the  season  of  the 
year  when  they  are  rearing  their  young,  and  how 
cruelly  the  young  ones  are  left  to  starve." 


246 


BUNNY  BOY 


"  No,  don't  tell  her,"  said  Mr.  Gale.  "  Tell 
her  though  of  the  loss  to  the  country,  for  she  has 
a  practical  little  mind ;  of  places  where  the  birds 
have  not  been  protected  as  they  are  here,  and  of 
the  consequent  failure  of  crops  and  the  enonnous 
expenditure  of  money  to  get  rid  of  insect  pests ; 
and  above  all  tell  her  not  to  grieve  overmuch 
about  this  or  any  other  evil  in  the  world,  but  to 
devote  her  energies  to  putting  a  stop  to  it." 

"  I  will,"  said  his  wife.  "  Now  let  us  go  and 
see  what  she  is  doing." 

Side  by  side  they  walked  over  the  lawn  to  a 
sheltered  comer,  where  was  Diadem's  little  ceme- 
tery for  deceased  pets. 

The  pink  bird  was  just  being  put  into  the 
ground.  "  Lay  him  here,  Dan,  next  to  the  chim- 
ney swallow,"  said  Diadem. 

"The  chimney  swallow,"  said  Mr.  Gale. 
"  That  is  an  addition  I  have  not  heard  of." 

"  It  was  last  week,  father.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber," said  Diadem,  "after  the  fire  in  the  tannery? 
He  must  have  had  his  nest  in  the  chimney,  for 
he  got  his  wings  singed  and  some  little  girls 
found  him  in  the  street  and  brought  him  here." 

"And  Diadem  stayed  home  from  school  all 
one  day  to  nurse  him,"  said  Dan,  "and  put  warm 
food  in  his  mouth.  He  breathed  heavily  just 
like  a  sick  person,  then  he  died." 

"Here  lies  old  Mr.  Jewry's  fighting  cock," 
said  Mr.  Gale,  "  the  worst  bird  in  Fredericton ; 
but  Diadem  took  him  in.  See  the  spur  at  the 
head  of  his  grave.  And  there  are  the  stones  of  a 
pet  cat  and  a  robin  and  three  dogs  belonging  to 


BUNNY  BOY 


347 


)i 


friends.  But  this  is  a  melancholy  business ;  let 
us  go  and  have  some  dinner." 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,''  said  Diadem ;  **  birds  have  a 
very  hard  time.  Good-bye,  little  pink  bird,"  and 
she  looked  mournfully  toward  the  grave.  "  I'm 
very  miserable,  Dan." 

Mr.  Gale  and  hi^  wife  looked  back.  Dan  had 
dropped  his  spade  and  had  thrown  his  arm  pro- 
tectingly  around  Diadem.  "Never  mind,  old 
girl,"  he  was  saying ;  "  there  are  lots  of  pleasant 
things  in  the  world  yet." 

"  Netta,  Netta,  don't  move  till  I  get  my  kodak," 
said  Mr.  Gale  one  day  a  few  weel^  later. 

He  had  just  come  from  his  office  and  had 
sauntered  out  through  the  house  to  the  spot 
where  he  knew  he  should  find  his  wife  and 
Diadem  and  possibly  Dan. 

Behind  the  villa  was  a  field  with  a  small  stream 
running  through  it  and  having  trees  scattered 
about  with  rustics  seats  under  them.  Near 
one  of  these  trees  Mrs.  Gale  sat,  and  perched 
close  to  her  head  was  Grum  Crrowdy. 

Mrs.  Gale  had  on  her  red  gown  and  the  stem 
old  raven  surveyed  her  with  the  greatest  appro- 
bation, occasionally  putting  down  his  beak  to 
rub  caressingly  the  rim  of  her  ear. 

At  such  times  Mrs.  Gale  shivered  and  laughed 
saying,  "  Please  don't,  Grum  Growdy ;  you  tickle 
my  ear."  But  the  raven  paid  no  attention  to  her 
remonstrance  and  continued  to  caress  her. 

Mr.  Gale  hurried  out  with  his  kodak  and  took 
a  snap  shot  at  her. 


248 


BX7NNY  BOY 


Then  she  moved  farther  away  from  the  raven 
which  however  calmly  hopped  to  the  back  of 
her  chair. 

Mrs.  Gale  changed  her  seat,  but  Grum  Growdy 
flew  on  her  lap. 

"  You  silly  old  thing,"  she  exclaimed,  smother- 
ing him  in  a  bit  of  fancy  work  on  which  she  had 
been  sewing;  "go  away  and  don't  bother  me." 

Grum  Growdy  thrust  out  his  head  for  her  to 
scratch,  which  she  did ;  then  rising  she  threw  him 
into  the  air. 

He  flew  away  and  her  husband  said :  "  The  old 
scamp,  who  would  have  supposed  that  he  would 
get  to  care  for  you  so  quickly  ?  " 

"  I  paid  most  devoted  court  to  him,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  have  worn  this  red  dress  all  through  the 
warm  weather  till  I  am  tired  of  it.  I  think  I 
can  venture  to  take  it  off  now." 

"Yes,  I  think  so  too,"  said  her  husband; 
"  Grum  Growdy  will  like  you  now,  no  matter 
what  color  you  wear." 

"  He  has  taught  me  a  lesson,"  said  Mrs.  Gale 
brightly;  "the  crossest  and  most  disagreeable 
people  can  be  won  by  kindness." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Gale. 

"  Fancy  learning  a  lesson  from  a  raven,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale ;  "  I  should  have  laughed  at  the  idea  a 
few  weeks  ago." 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  despise  any  creature  that  God 
has  made,"  said  Mr.  Gale. 

"  No,  indeed ;  Grum  Growdy  has  been  such  a 
help  to  me  in  visiting  old  Mr.  Smith.  His 
manner  is  detestable  you  know.    He  says  I  read 


BUNNY  BOT 


849 


the  Bible  as  if  my  mouth  were  full  of  pebbles ; 
but  I  find  if  one  has  patience  with  him  there  are 
gprains  of  kindness  in  his  heart.'' 

"  Where  are  the  children  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gale. 

*'  They  have  not  come  from  school  yet  They 
are  late  to-day." 

"  Ah,  I  thought  they  had  not ;  I  see  Bunny  Boy 
up  on  the  gate  post  waiting  for  Dan." 

"  Is  it  not  remarkable  that  the  little  creature 
should  feel  such  adoration  for  our  boy?  " 

^^  Remarkable  indeed ;  and  do  you  see  what  a 
softening,  humanizing  effect  it  is  having  upon 
Dan  ?  I  notice  that  when  he  speaks  roughly 
the  cat  shrinks  from  him  and  he  notices  it  too 
and  alters  his  tones." 

'^  That  cat  has  a  mission  in  the  world,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale. 

*'  Oh,  father  and  mother,  father  and  mother,  it 
is  just  beautiful  to  see  you,"  cried  some  one 
suddenly,  and  looking  up  they  saw  Diadem 
running  toward  them.  '*0h,  I  am  so  pleased 
that  you  are  out  here.  I've  got  a  lot  of  things 
to  tell  you.  We  are  going  to  have  a  Sunday- 
school  picnic  and  a  dear  little  heathen  girl  is  to 
be  there,  and  a  concert  is  to  be  held  to-night 
and  she  is  to  be  there  too,  and  may  I  go?  " 

"We  shall  see  about  it,"  said  her  mother, 
brushing  back  the  thick  fringe  of  hair  from  the 
little  girl's  face.  "  You  had  better  sit  down  and 
rest  now." 

"Oh,  you  naughty,  naughty  thing!"  ex- 
claimed Diadem  before  she  had  fairly  sat  down. 
"Stop  that  this  instant." 


250 


BUNNY  BOY 


Mr.  Gale  laughed  and  murmured,  "Old  beast/' 
at  the  same  time. 

Good  little  Bunny  Boy,  seeing  that  Dan  was 
not  coming,  had  started  to  follow  Diadem  to  the 
field,  but  he  was  very  much  hampered  in  his 
movements  by  the  teasing  raven. 

Grum  Growdy,  who  had  taken  Mrs.  Gale  into 
his  favor,  had  not  yet  ceased  to  dislike  Bunny 
Boy  and  lost  no  opportunity  of  worrying  him. 
Now  he  was  hovering  over  him  as  he  ran  toward 
the  group  under  the  tree,  and  at  every  little  run 
the  cat  took,  he  would  swoop  down  and  spitefully 
nip  his  long  fur. 

He  was  not  hurting  Bunny  Boy,  but  he  was 
decidedly  annoying  him  and  at  every  few  paces 
the  cat  would  stop  and  looking  at  him  with 
gentle  eyes,  put  up  a  protesting  paw  as  much  as 
to  say,  *'  How  can  you  do  such  things  ?  " 

Diadem  drove  the  raven  away,  and  the  cat  ran 
beside  her  to  the  shelter  of  the  tree. 

"Ah,  what  a  forgiving  pussy  you  are,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale,  as  the  worried  animal  sprang  on  her 
lap.  "  Some  cats  would  box  Grum  Growdy's 
ears,  but  you  do  not  show  the  least  resentment 
when  he  troubles  you." 

Bunny  Boy  sat  for  some  time  purring  quietly 
and  surveying  the  happy  family  party,  then  he 
showed  signs  of  excitement  and  finally  ran 
toward  the  house. 

"  Dan  is  coming  now,"  said  Diadem  ;  "  but  it 
is  odd  we  neither  see  nor  hear  him,  yet  Bunny 
Boy  knows.     How  can  animals  tell,  father?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  my  child ;  they  seem  to  have  a 


BUNNY  BOY 


2Sl 


sense  that  we  know  nothing  of.  When  I  went 
hunting  as  a  boy,  I  often  had  my  hound  come 
straight  to  me  when  he  could  neither  see  nor 
hear  me,  and  had  no  track  to  follow. '^ 

**I  think  that  we  should  love  animals  very 
much,"  said  Diadem,  "for  they  are  so  clever." 

Dan  soon  approached,  the  cat  as  usual  on  his 
shoulder.  "  I  have  been  to  the  woods,"  he  said, 
laying  a  bunch  of  wild  flowers  on  his  mother's 
lap. 

She  smiled  to  herself  as  she  put  them  to  her 
face  and  thought,  "  How  odd  children  are ;  this 
was  the  boy  who  was  going  to  hate  me."  Then 
she  gathered  up  her  work  to  leave  them. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Netta?"  asked  Dan. 

"  To  arrange  for  an  early  tea.  We  all  want  to 
go  to  the  concert  this  evening." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  jolly ;  but  can*t  I  do  it  for 
you  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you ;  I  want  to  see  cook  myself, 
and  you  are  tired.  Lie  down  on  the  grass ;  here 
is  a  cushion  for  your  head." 

He  stretched  himself  out  at  full  length,  and 
with  the  cat  sitting  close  beside  him,  amused 
himself  by  counting  the  young  apples  forming 
among  the  leaves  above  him. 

Two  hours  later  tea  was  over,  and  they  were 
starting  for  the  concert. 

Bunny  Boy  watched  them  from  the  front  door- 
way and  Grum  Growdy  looked  down  on  them 
from  an  elm  tree. 

Then  he  began  to  think  that  it  was  time  for 
him  to  go  to  bed. 


352 


BT7NNY  BOY 


He  would  fly  up  to  the  brook  in  the  field  and 
have  another  drink,  for  he  was  a  very  thirsty 
bird  and  was  always  drinking. 

In  the  brook  was  a  little  place  where  there 
was  a  hollow  between  speckled  stones.  This 
was  Grum  Growdy's  favorite  spot.  He  lighted 
on  one  of  the  stones  and  took  a  drink.  Then 
he  wished  that  it  was  earlier  in  the  day  so  that 
he  might  have  a  bath.  However,  he  would  not 
do  such  a  rash  thing  as  to  bathe  his  big  black 
body  and  then  go  to  bed.  So  he  simply  waded 
in  the  clear  water  and  looked  down  at  his  feet 
resting  on  the  pebbles. 

There  seemed  to  be  something  caught  and 
twisted  around  a  sharp  stone.  What  was  it  ?  A 
bit  of  fish  skin?  No,  it  was  a  string,  and  in 
moving  toward  it  he  got  it  around  one  of  his 
claws.  He  tried  to  get  out  of  it  but  it  became 
more  firmly  entangled,  so  he  stepped  on  a  stone 
and  picked  at  it  with  his  beak. 

Then  a  strange  thing  happened — ^he,  Grum 
Growdy,  who  was  always  so  agile  and  nimble, 
who  could  dodge  anything,  even  a  stone,  that  he 
would  watch  coming  from  the  hand  of  a  boy 
by  simply  jumping  up  and  allowing  it  to  pass 
under  him,  now  became  surely  caught  in  a  piece 
of  stout  twine  that  some  careless  person  had 
thrown  into  the  brook. 

He  got  confused  and  turned  around  instead  of 
standing  still.  This  wound  his  legs  tightly 
together  and  he  fell  over. 

He  became  furious  and  managing  to  right 
himself  he  put  his  powerful  beak  under  water 


BUNNY  BOY 


«53 


— ^the  beak  that  had  always  been  able  to  tear 
anything  apart  that  he  had  wanted  to  tear — ^and 
tried  to  pull  the  string  from  his  legs. 

His  head  being  under  water,  however,  he 
choked,  and  falling  over  on  his  side  he  found 
that  he  would  need  all  his  strength  to  keep  his 
head  above  water  instead  of  thrusting  it  in. 

Here  was  a  pretty  pickle  for  him  to  be  in — he, 
the  strong,  cunning  Grum  Growdy,  that  no 
person  but  the  Gales  and  Mrs.  Denham  had  ever 
laid  a  finger  on,  to  be  caught  by  the  legs  like  a 
silly  young  robin. 

What  should  he  do  ?  Thank  fortune  it  was 
getting  dark.  If  some  of  his  enemies  came 
along  now  they  would  smite  him  hip  and  thigh. 

If  he  had  only  known  the  right  place  in  which 
to  attack  the  string  he  could  have  thrust  his  head 
in  quickly  and  with  one  swift  stroke  could  have 
cut  it  in  two ;  but  he  did  not.  It  was  twisted 
round  and  round  the  stone  and  round  and  round 
his  feet,  and  like  many  human  beings  who  can 
keep  their  heads  perfectly  on  dry  land,  he  became 
a  complete  simpleton  when  he  fell  into  the  water. 

After  a  time  it  seemed  to  Grum  Growdy  that 
the  water  was  rising.  He  had  certainly  floun- 
dered into  a  pool  where  it  was  well  up  over  his 
back. 

He  did  not  think  of  drowning  or  of  calling 
for  help,  he  was  simply  angry,  and  he  stood  as 
best  he  could  in  perfect  silence  so  that  he  would 
attract  no  enemies  to  the  spot. 

Perhaps  he  knew  that  even  if  he  did  laugh 
*Ha,  ha,'  or  shriek  'Bosh,'  no  one  would  have 


254 


BUNNY  BOY 


come  to  his  assistance.  There  were  several 
houses  near  the  Gales*  villa,  and  the  people  were 
laughing  and  talking  and  sitting  on  their  ve- 
randas or  playing  games  inside,  but  they  were 
all  quite  used  to  Grum  Growdy  and  if  he  had 
lifted  up  his  voice  they  would  simply  have  said ; 
"  It  is  the  Gales'  raven.  It  is  late  for  him  to  be 
chattering." 

So  the  poor  old  raven  stood  in  the  brook  and 
the  neighbors  went  on  amusing  themselves. 

How  quickly  Dan  would  have  run  to  the  spot 
if  he  could  have  seen  him  5  but  Dan  at  that  in- 
stant was  several  blocks  away  enjoying  the 
music  at  the  concert.     He  could  not  come. 

Cook,  to  whom  Grum  Growdy  so  often  said 
"  Veb,"  was  sitting  by  her  window  resting.  If  it 
had  been  light  she  could  almost  have  seen  him, 
but  if  he  had  given  any  of  his  usual  hoarse  calls 
she  would  have  ejaculated,  "  Oh,  you  impudent 
thing;  you  may  screech  your  head  off  before 
I'll  cake  any  not'ce  of  you." 

Grum  Growdy  was  certainly  in  a  desperate 
state.  In  his  flutterings  to  and  fro  he  had  bruised 
one  oi'  his  wings  which  was  bleeding,  and  he 
had  CO  far  lost  his  foothold  that  now  he  was  on 
his  side  in  the  water,  having  all  he  could  do  to 
keep  his  head  out. 

If  Mrs.  Gale,  his  latest  favorite,  could  see  him 
how  sorry  she  would  be,  how  quick.y  she  would 
cut  the  cruel  cord  that  bound  his  legs ;  but  she 
was  not  there  nor  was  dear  little  Diadem.  While 
Grum  Growdy  lay  in  grim  uncomplaining  silence 
a  crash  of  music  at  the  concert  filled  the  ears  of 


BUNNY  BOY 


255 


the  small  girl  who  would  have  flown  to  his  side 
could  she  have  known  hie  sad  plight. 

There  was  only  one  creature  in  the  family 
that  suspected  his  misfortune  and  that  was  the 
despised  little  cat  that  he  had  worried  half  to 
death.  How  Bunny  Boy  knew  no  one  could  tell, 
but  as  he  lay  on  the  back  doorstep  he  pricked 
his  ears  first  one  way,  then  the  other,  knowing 
quite  well  that  away  down  in  the  field  the  old 
raven  was  either  in  trouble  or  very  cunningly 
pretending  to  be  so. 

Bunny  Boy  was  a  very  perplexed  little  cat. 
He  was  quite  willing  to  go  to  the  aid  of  the 
raven  if  he  were  really  needed ;  but  suppose  this 
was  a  trap  ?  The  raven  hated  him.  He  knew 
that  the  family  had  gone  to  the  concert.  Per- 
haps he  was  trying  to  allure  his  rival  into  the 
field  to  peck  him  to  death  with  his  cruel  beak. 

Bunny  Boy  stood  up  and  listened.  No  sound 
came  from  the  raven,  none  would  come,  lie  would 
die  in  silence ;  and  the  cat,  as  if  knowing  this, 
suddenly  sprang  from  the  steps  and  went  steal- 
ing through  the  grass  to  the  brook. 

It  was  perfectly  dark  now  and  there  was  no 
moon,  but  Bunny  Boy's  eyes  were  made  so  that 
he  could  see  quite  well.  A  brace  of  little  field 
mice  scampered  by  but  he  gave  no  heed  to  them 
and  hurried  on.  What  a  splashing  and  tumbling 
there  was  in  the  brook  !  He  was  now  quite  near 
it  and  in  a  glance  took  in  the  situation.  Poor 
Grum  Growdy !  he  was  indeed  in  trouble,  his 
v/hole  body  was  under  water. 

When  the  cat  stood  over  him  he  ceased  strug- 


i 


256 


BUNNY  BOY 


gling  and  lay  with  his  wet  black  head  just  rest- 
ing on  a  stone. 

"  Meow,"  said  Bunny  Boy  gently,  which  meant, 
"  Well,  you  have  got  yourself  into  a  mess  and  I 
am  sorry  for  you." 

"  Caw,"  said  the  raven  feebly. 

Bunny  Boy  for  an  instant  did  not  know  what 
to  do.  Being  a  cat  he  hated  the  water  and  if  he 
got  in  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  help  the 
raven.  So  he  stared  at  the  bird  and  the  bird 
at  him.     Then  they  understood  each  other. 

Bunny  Boy  instead  of  returning  to  the  house 
daintily  crossed  the  brook  on  the  stepping-stones 
and  swiftly  took  a  short  cut  leading  to  the  church 
vestry  where  the  concert  was  being  held. 

Grum  Growdy  knew  what  he  was  going  to  do 
and  lay  quite  still  without  struggling. 

Poor  Bunny  Boy's  troubles  were  now  to  begin. 
He  was  a  timid  cat  and  hated  the  public  street, 
where  there  were  always  so  many  dogs.  Trem- 
bling and  hiding  occasionally  when  he  heard 
any  one  coming,  then  hurrying  to  make  up  for 
the  delay,  he  gained  the  hall.  On  arriving  there 
he  crouched  near  the  doorway  and  wondered  how 
he  was  to  get  in.  A  tall  young  man  stood  there 
and  catching  sight  of  him  said,  "Get  home, 
pussy,  this  isn't  a  cat  show." 

"  Meow,  Meow,"  said  Bunny  Boy  appealingly 
and  crept  a  little  nearer. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  young  man,  "you  just  go 
back  to  the  place  you  came  from.  You  would 
be  frightened  to  death  if  you  got  in  there. 
This  is  no  place  for  cats." 


BUNNY   BOY 


257 


Bunny  Boy  hid  himself  for  a  few  minutes  then 
when  the  young  man's  back  was  turned  he 
rushed  by  him. 

He  found  himself  in  a  big  lighted  hall  crowded 
with  people,  and  as  the  young  man  had  warned 
him  he  was  half  frightened  to  death.  Where  was 
he  to  find  his  dear  family  ?  He  paused  an  in- 
stant in  the  aisle,  then  something  told  him  where 
they  were  and  he  ran  right  to  them  and  sprang 
on  the  knees  of  th(i  astonished  Dan. 

"Good  gracious,"  exclaimed  the  boy,  "what 
is  this?"  Then  he  looked  about  at  the  lads 
scattered  here  and  there  who  were  giggling  at 
him  and  pressing  Bunny  Boy  down  in  his  lap 
he  covered  him  with  his  cap. 

The  cat  would  not  keep  still.  lie  kept  elevat- 
ing his  back  and  lifting  Dan's  cap  in  the  air  till 
he  got  for  the  first  time  in  his  history  a  gentle 
cuff  on  the  ears. 

It  made  no  difference.  Bunny  Bov  still  put  up 
his  back,  mewed  and  tried  to  jump  on  the  floor. 

"  Well,  get  down  then,  you  silly  thing,"  said 
Dan,  pushing  him  aside. 

"  Meow,"  said  Bunny  Boy  dismally,  standing 
on  his  hind  legs  as  he  had  been  taught  to  do 
when  he  wanted  anything  and  looking  appeal- 
ingly  at  Diadem  and  Mrs.  Gale. 

The  little  Hindu  had  at  that  instant  come  on 
the  platform  dressed  in  the  native  costume  of 
her  country  and  was  singing  a  curious  song. 
The  Gales  were  all  interested  in  it,  yet  they  could 
not  help  watching  the  strange  actions  of  the 
usually  quiet  little  cat. 


258 


BUNNY   BOY 


Diadem,  who  understood  animals  better  than 
Dan  did,  at  last  whispered  to  her  mother, 
"  Bunny  Boy  wishes  us  to  follow  him ;  some- 
thing has  happened  at  home." 

The  cat,  as  if  conscious  of  what  she  said, 
sprftig  out  into  the  passage  between  the  seats 
and  running  back  and  forth,  showed  as  plainly 
as  possible  that  the  little  girl  was  right. 

"Nothing  could  happen,"  whispered  Dan, 
leaning  over  to  speak  to  them.  "Cook  is  at 
home." 

"  I  anj  going  to  see,  anyway,"  said  Diadem, 
decidedly.  "  Bunny  Boy  is  in  trouble  or  he 
wouldn't  act  in  that  way.  Mayn't  I,  Mother 
Netta?" 

"Certainly,  and  I  will  go  with  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Gale. 

The  two  slipped  quietly  out  preceded  by  the 
cat,  that  had  now  stopped  mewing  and  ran  in 
front  of  them,  looking  back  anxiously  to  see  if 
they  were  following. 

He  made  a  bee  line  for  the  brook.  Mrs.  Gale 
and  Diadem  hurried  after  him,  sometimes  laugh- 
ing, sometimes  saying  anxiously,  "  Has  he  gone 
crazy?"  as  he  took  them  across  streets  and 
down  lanes  and  finally  over  a  stone  wall. 

"  Now,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Gale  as,  holding 
Diadem  tightly  by  the  hand,  she  at  last  stood 
peering  down  at  the  dark  brook  where  Bunny 
Boy  had  halted. 

A  fioarse  but  happy  caw  at  her  feet  made  her 
start  back. 

"Oh,  my  raven,  my  darling,  darling  bird," 


BUNNY  BOY 


259 


I  her 


shrieked  Diadem.  "  He  is  drowning,  oh,  dear, 
dear,"  and  she  fell  on  her  knees  at  the  edge  of 
the  brook  and  plunging  her  hands  into  the 
water,  she  felt  about  till  she  found  Grum 
Growdy's  sleek  body. 

Mrs.  Gale  put  her  hands  in  too,  and  soon 
discovered  the  state  of  affairs.  "Hold  tightly 
to  him,  Diadem,"  she  said,  "  and  I  will  run  to 
the  house  for  a  lantern  and  a  knife.  I  am  afraid 
to  pull  on  that  string." 

She  turned  away,  and  Diadem,  kneeling  with 
the  front  of  her  white  embroidered  frock  floating 
to  and  fro  in  the  water,  petted  the  now  happy 
bird  till  her  mother  returned. 

Cook  held  the  lantern,  and  then  a  few  sharp 
cuts  of  the  knife  set  Grum  Growdy  free. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  he  said,  and  staggered  to  and  fro  on 
his  stiff  legs. 

"  Ha,  ha,  indeed,"  said  cook ;  "  this  might  have 
been  a  poor  joke  for  you,  sir.  You  had  better 
mend  your  ways  and  not  be  so  impudent." 

"Bosh,"  said  the  bird  with  dignity,  and 
turned  his  back  on  her. 

Diadem  took  him  up  in  her  arms  and  carried 
him  to  the  house.  "  My  poor,  bad,  old  bird — 
you  will  try  now  to  be  good,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Nicely,  thank  you,"  chuckled  the  raven. 

"  And  you  must  apologize  to  this  dear  little 
Bunny  Boy,  who  has  saved  your  life,"  said 
Diadem. 

The  raven  said  nothing,  but  he  looked  at  the 
cat  in  such  a  bright,  quick  fashion  that  Diadem 
thought  he  understood  what  she  meant. 


m 


26o 


BUNNY  BOY 


When  Mr.  Gale  and  Dan  came  home  they 
found  Mrs.  Gale  and  Diadem  sitting  before  the 
sofa  in  the  dining  room.  On  one  end  of  it  was 
Grum  Growdy  getting  his  wet  plumage  rubbed 
with  a  towel,  on  the  other  sat  Bunny  Boy  eying 
him  with  visible  satisfaction. 

"  Oh,  father  and  Dan,  what  do  you  think  has 
happened  ?  "  and  Diadem  told  them  the  story  of 
the  cat's  rescue  of  the  raven. 

"Surprising,"  said  Mr.  Gale  when  she  had 
finished. 

"I  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Dan ;  " that  raven 
will  never  worry  my  cat  any  more." 

He  was  right.  Grum  Growdy  never  once 
molested  Bunny  Boy  after  that  night.  For  many 
days  subsequent  to  his  ducking  in  the  brook  he 
would  sit  and  stare  at  Bunny  Boy  in  a  very 
curious  fashion,  never  going  near  him  and  never 
teasing  him.  Then  after  a  long  time  they  be- 
came friends  and  now  the  raven  will  perch  beside 
the  cat,  eat  with  him  and  address  long  conver- 
sations to  him,  which  Bunny  Boy  seems  to  enjoy 
hug<;ly. 


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TEN  LITTLE  INDIANS 


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'HAT  was  the  name  of  the  club — the  Ten 
Little  Indians  Club— there  were  ten 
boys  belonging  to  it,  Will  Johnson, 
Percy  Percival,  Guy  Fitzgerald,  Bernard 
Griffin,  Dicky  Dougall,  Jim  Thomson, 
Rollo  Jones,  Jed  Hammond,  and  John  and  Mar- 
tin Fitch. 

They  were  not  very  little  boys.  Percy  Per- 
cival, the  youngest  of  them  all,  was  eleven. 
They  were  called  the  little  Indians  because  they 
were  the  brothers  of  young  men  who  belonged 
to  what  was  called  the  Indian  Club. 

The  Indian  Club  went  in  for  out-of-door  sports 
and  games.  They  were  great  canoeists,  and  they 
played  Lacrosse  and  other  Indian  games,  and 
were  very  fond  of  spending  all  their  leisure  time 
in  the  woods  surrounding  the  city  where  they 
lived. 

The  Indians,  little  and  big,  were  all  Canadians, 
and  many  a  stranger  in  Fredericton,  the  capital 
of  the  Canadian  province  of  New  Brunswick,  has 
been  entertained  in  their  camp  on  an  island  in 
the  river. 
Of  course,  they  were  not  real  Indians ;  they 

361 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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262 


TEN   I^ITTLE  INDIANS 


just  called  themselves  that  for  fun.  They  were 
all  white ;  the  young  men  who  were  the  big  In- 
dians, and  the  boys  who  were  the  little  Indians; 

One  day,  a  fine  summer  day,  the  ten  little  In- 
dians stood  in  a  group  on  the  river  bank.  They 
had  met  there  after  school  and  were  just  de- 
bating how  they  should  spend  the  afternoon. 

"Let*s  take  out  the  canoes  and  go  up  the 
Nashwaaksis,"  said  Martin  Fitch. 

"  All  right,  let's,"  said  a  number  of  the  other 
boys. 

Bernard  Griffin  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket 
and  with  a  rueful  smile  drew  out  a  piece  of 
paper.     "  Look  here,  fellows,"  he  said. 

"Read  it"  cried  Dicky  Dougall;  "we  can't 
all  see  it." 

Bernard  read  aloud.  "Old  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Saxon  would  be  glad  to  have  a  call  from  the  ten 
little  Indians  on  Thursday." 

"  They  would,  would  they,"  exclaimed  Rollo 
Jones,  "  is'nt  that  like  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Saxon." 

"And  it's  signed,"  said  Bernard,  "with  Mr. 
Everard's  name." 

"  Bother  Mr.  Everard  and  bother  old  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Saxon,"  said  Jim  Thomson.  "  Let  him  go 
and  see  them  himself." 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  we  do  a  good  deal  of 
visiting  the  sick,  for  Indians,"  grumbled  John 
Fitch. 

"  This  child  doesn't  believe  in  keeping  a  dog 
and  barking  himself,"  said  Dicky  Dougall,  bal- 
ancing himself  on  a  log  and  snapping  his  fingers. 

The  boys  all  laughed.     "What's  the  joke?" 


1 
s 


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a 


t 


TEN   UTTLE  INDIANS 


263 


»» 


Mr. 


dog 
bal- 


asked  a  pale,  slight  lad,  who  was  staring  intently 
at  the  Indians  with  bright  dark  eyes. 

"See  here,  Crawford,  I'll  give  you  a  few 
points,"  said  John  Fitch,  taking  him  by  the 
front  of  his  coat  and  leading  him  aside ;  "  you're 
a  visitor  and  don't  know.  This  club  is  called 
the  Little  Indians,  do  you  know  that?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  strange  boy. 

"And  we  go  in  for  a  good  time  like  most 
clubs,  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  do." 

"  And  Bernard  Griffin  is  our  secretary,  and  Jed 
Hammond  is  our  president,  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  I  do  now,"  said  the  boy  from  the  far-away 
city  of  Montreal.  "  Let  go  my  coat,  will  you," 
and  he  twitched  himself  away  from  the  other  lad. 

"  And  all  the  old  men  and  all  the  old  women 
in  the  place  want  us  to  come  and  sit  by  their 
beds  and  hold  their  hands,"  said  John.  "  Now, 
how  are  we  going  to  do  that  and  have  fun  ?  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  your  head  punched?  " 
said  the  Montreal  boy  politely. 

Will  Johnson  turned  around  suddenly.  "  Here 
you,  John  Fitch,  what  are  you  about?  Craw- 
ford's my  guest,  just  you  remember  that." 

John  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  sneaky.  "  I 
wasn't  doing  a  thing,"  he  said,  and  he  slunk 
away. 

"  Hello,  Crawford  boy,"  said  Will,  moving  up 
to  him,  "  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  the  other  laconically.  Then 
he  started  over  again  in  his  quest  for  informa- 
tion.    "  What  was  the  joke  just  now  ?  " 


264 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


"  Oh,  it's  about  Mr.  Everard ;  we  all  go  to  his 
church,  you  know.  He  likes  fun  and  all  that, 
but  he  says  we  ought  to  do  some  good,  and  he's 
always  putting  us  up  to  something." 

"  Do  you  visit  old  men  and  women  ?  " 

"Yes,'  said  Will  half-shamefacedly.  "They 
think  we're  more  fun  than  a  cage  of  monkeys." 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"  Troop  in  and  sit  down  and  look  at  'em. 
Sometimes  they  ask  us  to  sing  our  club  songs, 
sometimes  a  church  hymn,  sometimes  they  ask 
questions  till  I'm  rattled ;  sometimes  we  take 
them  flowers  and  green  stuff  from  the  woods." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Crawford,  adjusting 
his  necktie.  "  It's  bad  to  be  piggy,  and  I  guess 
you're  not  softies." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  Will.  "  Hello,  what's 
going  on  ?  " 

There  was  a  raft  of  logs  floating  down  the 
river,  and  the  boys  were  looking  at  it. 

"  That's  nothing  to  see,"  said  Will.  "  I  wish 
you  could  be  here  in  the  spring,  Crawford,  when 
the  ice  breaks  up." 

"The  St.  Lawrence  gets  covered  with  ice," 
said  the  other  boy. 

"  Our  river  is  a  sight,"  said  Will.  "  The  ice 
cakes  crush  together  and  the  water  comes  tear- 
ing down  and  the  logs  jump  and  tear  along  and 
have  a  regular  picnic;  you  would  think  they 
were  alive  to  see  them  crowding  each  other." 

"  Sorry  to  break  in,"  said  Guy  throwing  Will 
a  key,  "  but  I  wish  you'd  go  and  ask  your  brother 
to  change  this.     We've  brought  the  wrong  one." 


• 


3 

t 

s 


s 
C 

c 

(I 

I 


TEN  LITTLE  INDIANS 


265 


» 


») 


ne. 


»> 


"Who'll  go  for  the  stufiF  to  eat?"  called 
Bernard. 

"  I  and  I,"  said  some  of  the  boys. 

"  Come  on,  Crawford,"  said  Will,  "  they  have 
decided  to  go  across  the  river.  Jed  must  have 
spoken." 

"  He's  your  president,"  said  Crawford,  hurry- 
ing along  beside  him. 

"  Yes ;  just  take  a  good  look  at  him  when  he 
opens  his  mouth.  He  hardly  ever  speaks  unless 
he's  spoken  to." 

"  He  must  be  a  lively  president." 

"I  tell  you  there's  lots  of  quiet  fun  in  Jed. 
You  just  watch  him." 

Ten  minutes  later  the  boys  were  launching 
canoes.  Three  bark  ones  there  were,  with  their 
names  painted  in  white  letters  on  the  bows — the 
Jemseg,  the  Canaweeta,  and  the  Oromocto. 

Will  was  carefully  guiding  the  Oromocto  into 
the  water.  "  If  we  smash  a  hole  in  one  it  takes 
so  long  to  mend  it,"  he  said  to  Crawford. 

"  I  know,"  said  the  Montreal  boy.  "  I've  been 
in  a  canoe  before." 

The  boys  tossed  in  their  parcels,  then  they 
stepped  in,  three  boys  in  the  Jemseg,  four  in  the 
Canaweeta,  and  four  in  the  Oromocto. 

Will  was  paddling  in  the  stem  of  the  last 
canoe,  and  Crawford  sat  in  the  front  of  him. 
"  We're  pretty  low  in  the  water,"  said  Will,  "  but 
I  guess  we're  all  right." 

"Let's  sing,  boys,"  shouted  Dicky  Dougall 
when  the  canoes  glided  out  beyond  the  wharf. 


266 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


"  The  club  song  first,"  called  Bernard.  "  Here 
goes,"  and  he  began  singing  to  the  tune  of  "  John 
Brown  had  a  little  Indian," 

"Will,  and  Jim,  and  Guy,  and  Martin, 
John  and  RoUo.  jolly  Griffin, 
Percy,  Jed,  and  Dicky  Dougall, 
Ten  little  Indian  lads." 

"  Who»s  jolly  Griffin  ?  "  asked  Crawford. 

"  Bernard,"  said  Will,  "  he's  jolly,  don't  you 
know.  That's  why  we  say  it.  Hello,  Indians, 
what's  the  matter  with  *  La  Loo '  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  was  the  reply,  and  they 
started  another  song  while  Will  said  in  a  low, 
proud  voice  Lo  Crawford,  "  I  made  it  up." 

"The  sky  is  blue,  the  water  too, 

La  loo,  la  loo, 
We  glide  along  a  merry  crew, 

La  loo,  la  loo, 
We  won' t  get  home  till  late  to-night 

La  loo,  la  loo, 
Our  parents  know  that  we'  re  all  right, 

La  loo,  la  loo." 

The  lusty  young  voices  floated  back  over  the 
river  into  the  open  windows  of  a  bank  where 
some  of  the  boys'  fathers  sat  having  a  business 
meeting.  More  than  one  smile  flitted  over  the 
faces  of  the  grave  and  sober  men  present  They 
were  glad  that  their  boys  were  having  a  good 
time. 

"  Do  vou  really  stay  out  late  ?  "  asked  Craw- 
ford of  Will. 

"  Yes ;  pretty  late  sometimes." 


TEN  LITTLE  INDIANS 


267 


"  I  guess  you  put  that  in  to  sound  big,"  said 
John,  who  happened  to  be  in  the  canoe  with 
them. 

"  Sit  still,  John ;  donH  excite  yourself,"  said 
Will  teasingly.  "  It  don't  take  much  to  upset  a 
canoe,  you  know." 

"  Bah !  they  go  slipping  out  from  under  you 
like  a  live  thing,"  said  Crawford.  "  I  say,  this 
is  fine.  Will." 

"  Yes,  isn't  it,"  said  Will,  paddling  more  vigor- 
ously than  ever  as  he  looked  about  him.  "  Fred- 
ericton  is  the  prettiest  place  in  the  world.  Just 
look  at  those  church  spires  above  the  trees  and 
the  fine  houses  down  there." 

"  Montreal  is  a  bigger  place,"  said  Crawford. 

"  Of  course ;  but  it  isn't  so  nice  to  live  in." 

"  Have  you  ever  been  there  ?  "  said  Crawford. 

"  No ;  but  my  father  has." 

"  All  right,"  said  Crawford ;  "  wait  till  you 
come.     What's  the  place  over  there  ?  " 

"  That's  Gibson.  Bare-looking,  isn't  it  ?  It 
was  nearly  wiped  out  by  a  fire  a  year  ago.  They'll 
build  it  up,  though.  Away  down  there  is  the 
opening  of  the  Nashwaak." 

"  Is  that  another  river  ?  "  asked  Crawford. 

"  Yes,  it  flows  into  this  one ;  we  must  go  up 
it  some  day.  There's  a  jolly  little  town  on  it — 
Marysville  it's  called.  It's  all  owned  by  one 
man,  the  Pullman  of  Canada.  He  has  every- 
thing :  houses,  shops,  a  big  factory  where  five 
hundred  people  work,  and  he  built  a  boss — I 
mean  a  fine  little  church,  that  cost  fifty  thou- 
sand dollars.     This  river  that  we're  going  to  is 


268 


TEN  LITTLE  INDIANS 


called  the  Nashwaaksis  because  it  is  the  little 
Nashwaak.  You  mustn't  pronounce  the  k  in 
Nashwaaksis.     It's  only  for  show." 

"  You  pronounce  it  in  Nashwaak,"  said  Craw- 
ford. 

a  Yes." 

"  We're  not  going  to  the  Nashwaaksis  at  all," 
said  John ;  "  we're  bound  for  the  camp." 

"  Good,"  exclaimed  Will ;  "  I  didn't  know 
that." 

"  Jed  said  so,"  replied  John. 

"  Well,  if  he  said  so  we  must  be  going,"  said 
Will.     "  Hello,  there,  Jemseg." 

"  La  loo,  la  loo,"  came  back  from  the  first 
canoe. 

"  Ask  Jed,"  shouted  Will,  "  to  steer  as  close 
to  the  Nashwaaksis  as  he  can.  I  want  Crawford 
to  see  what  a  gay  little  river  it  is." 

"  Sorry  ;  can't  do  it,"  came  back.  "  Haven't 
time." 

"  Botheration,"  growled  Will,  as  he  clutched 
his  paddle  more  firmly. 

"Jed's  what  you  might  call  *sot  in  his  ways,' 
isn't  he  ?  "  said  Rollo,  who  was  the  fourth  boy  in 
the  canoe. 

"  He's  the  oldest  one  of  the  lot,"  said  John. 
"  The  big  Indians  would  not  let  us  have  their 
canoes  if  we  didn't  mind  him." 

"  It's  all  light,"  said  Crawford.  "  I  don't  care. 
What  in  the  line  of  boats  is  this,  Will  ?  "  ^ 

Crawford  was  laughing  quietly  and  twisting 
his  neck  around  to  look  at  the  craft  approaching 
them. 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


269 


"It's  old  man  Lofty,"  said  Will.  "We're  used 
to  him.  He  goes  down  the  river  every  summer 
like  that.  He  calls  it  his  oil-barrel  raft.  They're 
empty  paraffine  casks  lashed  together.  Look  at 
his  wife  and  children  peeping  out  of  that  canvas 
shanty  on  them." 

"  What  does  he  do  it  for  ? "  asked  Crawford, 
who  was  still  laughing  as  the  crude  white 
house-boat  went  floating  by  them  with  the  cur- 
rent. 

"He  sells  the  casks  down  the  river  and  re- 
turns by  steamer." 

"  I  say  this  is  pretty,"  remarked  Crawford. 

They  were  in  the  middle  of  the  wide  river. 
They  had  passed  the  wharves  and  sawmills  and 
the  piles  of  lumber  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city, 
and  the  quaint  old  stone  government  house  stand- 
ing unoccupied  and  lonely  in  the  midst  of  fine  old 
trees.  Now  on  either  side  of  them  stretched 
green  fields  with  here  and  there  a  house.  In  the 
distance  were  some  small  islands. 

"  There's  our  camp — you  can  see  it  now,"  said 
Rollo.  "  Look,  near  that  round  hill  wooded  to 
the  top." 

Crawford  was  looking  "^t  it  "  It's  a  fine  place 
for  a  camp,"  he  said. 

"  The  first  camp  we  had  on  that  island  floated 
away  in  a  heavy  spring  freshet,"  said  John. 
"  We  saw  it  coming  down  the  river.  This  one 
has  a  heavier  foundation." 

"  Does  it  belong  to  the  little  Indians  ?  "  asked 
Crawford. 

"  No  ;  to  the  big  ones,"  replied  Rollo.  "  They 


\ 


270 


TEN  UTTI,E  INDIANS 


let  US  use  it  if  weVe  careful.  My,  don^t  we 
catch  it  if  anything  is  missing.  The  big  In- 
dians bring  their  young  lady  friends  down  here 
on  picnics." 

"  I  think  I  would  like  to  belong  to  an  Indian 
club,"  said  Crawford,  and  a  smile  passed  over  his 
delicate  face  as  the  canoe  grated  gently  on  the 
sand. 

As  he  stepped  ashore  he  saw  with  secret  de- 
light the  president,  who  was  a  much  older  lad 
than  he,  standing  before  him. 

"  Glad  you  could  come  to  Camp  Comfort,"  said 
Jed  stuffing  his  hands  in  his  pockets.  "  Sorry 
we  couldn't  take  in  the  Nashwaaksis.  I  promised 
to  be  back  on  time.  The  big  Indians  go  out  by 
moonlight  this  evening  with  some  girls." 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Crawford  deeply  grati- 
fied. 

"  Come  see  the  camp,"  said  Jed. 

Some  of  the  lads  dre^  the  canoes  a  little  way 
from  the  water's  edge,  others  ran  up  the  steep 
bank  to  light  a  fire,  and  Jed  and  Crawford 
walked  around  the  little  island. 

"  It  isn't  big,  but  it's  comfortable." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Crawford  looking 
about  at  the  swings  and  hammocks  under  the 
trees,  the  rustic  seats,  the  level  place  for  games, 
the  little  well  and  sunken  refrigerator. 

"  Come  in,"  and  Jed  halted  at  the  door  of  the 
big  log  camp  that  occupied  the  center  of  the 
island.  The  ends  of  the  logs  were  painted  red 
and  green  shrubbery  pressed  against  the  windows 
and  hung  about  the  entrance. 


TEN   UTTI.E   INDIANS 


271 


"There's  our  big  stone  fireplace,"  said  Jed 
pointing  to  it.  "  Let's  have  a  fire,  boys,  and 
show  Will's  friend  how  it  looks  later  on  when  we 
sit  around  here  popping  com  and  spinning 
yarns." 

He  threw  off  his  coat  and  ran  out  for  some 
birch  bark  and  sticks  of  wood  and  soon  a  big 
fire  went  roaring  up  the  chimney. 

The  red  glow  flashed  into  every  comer  of  the 
camp. 

"  We  sleep  in  those  rows  of  bunks  along  the 
wall  when  we  stay  down  all  night,"  Jed  said. 
"  Look,  here  are  the  camp  blankets  and  pillows ; 
C.  C.  on  each  of  them.  Some  of  the  girls  gave 
the  big  Indians  those  pictures.  See,  here  is  our 
pantry.  We  bought  those  tin  cans ;  salt,  sugar, 
whatever  we  want  is  in  them." 

"What  does  this  mean?"  asked  Crawford 
pointing  to  a  big  jar  labeled  "  Palatables." 

"  Candy,"  said  Jed  lifting  the  lid.  "  It's  al- 
ways empty.  There's  one  jawbreaker  here.  I 
won't  offer  you  that.  Whew,  it's  hot  here. 
Let's  get  out." 

Crawford  followed  him  out  of  doors  where  the 
other  lads  were  gathered  around  a  small  fire. 

"I  say,  that  coffee  smells  good,"  said  Craw- 
ford. 

Jed  smiled  and  walked  away. 

"  He's  been  showing  you  around,  hasn't  he  ?  " 
said  Will  in  Crawford's  ear. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  smaller  boy  standing  on  his 
toes  to  make  himself  look  tall.  "  He  can  talk. 
He's  all  right." 


2^% 


TEN   LITTLE  INDIANS 


The  boys  had  brought  a  ver>'  good  lunch  with 
them.  They  sat  around  a  long,  wooden  table 
under  the  trees  and  devoted  their  attention  to 
sandwichesj  bread  and  butter,  and  cold  meat, 
pies,  tarts,  cakes,  and  a  basket  of  fruit. 

All  too  soon  the  time  came  to  break  up. 

"  Eat  some  more,  Crawford,"  said  Will. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  one  nightmare  now,"  was 
the  reply;  "If  you  make  me  eat  one  bit  more 
'  I'll  have  two." 

"  Stop  then,"  said  Will,  "  and  help  me  carry 
these  things  to  the  canoes.  This  cake  and  stuff 
is  for  the  dearly  beloved  Saxons." 

On  the  w£iy  home  the  boys  did  not  need  to 
paddle  so  hard,  for  they  were  going  down  the 
stream.  They  laughed  and  talked  and  made 
jokes,  and  on  catching  sight  of  the  lights  of 
Fredericton  again  broke  into  song. 

Jed's  canoe  went  ahead,  for  there  were  some 
rocks  and  sandbanks  in  the  river,  and  he  knew 
them  better  than  any  of  the  other  boys. 

"There's  the  moon  climbing  the  cathedral 
spire,"  said  Will,  when  they  got  nearly  to  the 
boat  house.  Won't  it  be  glorious  later  on.  I 
wish  we  were  going  out  with  the  big  Indians." 

"  Come  now,  hustle,"  said  Jed,  looking  at  his 
watch  and  speaking  to  the  other  lads,  who  were 
inclined  to  dawdle.  "  Put  the  canoes  on  the 
shelves,  then  quick  march  for  the  Saxons'." 

"  Oh,  hush  up,  Jed,"  "  I  say  that's  too  bad, 
Jed,"  and  "What  are  you  thinking  about?"  were 
some  of  the  exclamations  that  greeted  him  on 
every  side. 


TEN  -LITTLE  INDIANS 


373 


"  Hustle,"  he  said  again  calmly. 

"I'm  not  going  to  the  Saxons',-'  said  John 
Fitch  viciously  pushing  a  paddle  into  ith  place. 
"  I've  got  lessons  to  learn  and  I'm  tired." 

"  Give  that  Indian  something  to  carry,"  said 
Jed;  "he's  lazy." 

Dicky  Dougall  tumbled  a  bag  full  of  soiled 
linen  that  he  was  carrying  home  from  the  camp 
on  John's  shoulders." 

Everybody  roared  with  laughter  as  John  stag- 
gered forward. 

"  Carry  that,"  said  Jed  throwing  his  hand  over 
John's  neck,  "  and  stop  your  talk." 

John  wisely  held  his  tongue,  and  the  other 
lads,  after  locking  the  boat  house  and  putting 
the  key  where  the  big  Indians  would  find  it, 
hurried  on  after  the  two  boys. 

"  Let's  serenade  'em,"  said  Bernard  when  the 
little  Indians  all  pulled  up  under  the  windows 
of  a  yellow  house  with  a  projecting  roof. 

One  little,  two  little,  three  little  Indians, 
Four  little 

started  somebody. 

"  Hush,"  said  Jed.  "  They're  old  people. 
Think  of  something  quiet  and  solemn." 

"What's  their  favorite  hymn?"  said  Dicky 
Dougall.     "  *  Hark  from  the  tombs,'  isn't  it  ?  " 

Jed  suddenly  put  out  his  foot  and  tripped 
Dicky,  who  went  tumbling  back  on  the  two 
Fitch  boys.  "Stop  your  fooling  and  sing,"  said 
Jed,  "  or  I'll " 

"  Oh  no,  you  won't,"  said  Dick  saucily ;  then 

s 


274 


TKN  I4TTI3  INDIANS 


he  composed  himself,  and  in  a  sweet,  clear  voice, 
for  he  was  a  choir  boy  and  sang  in  church  on 
Sunday,  began  the  grand  old  hymn : 

'  <  The  church' s  one  foundation 
Is  Jesus  Christ  her  Lord." 

An  old  man  and  an  old  woman  sat  inside  the 
yellow  house.  They  had  just  finished  their  tea 
and  had  sat  down  and  read  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible  before  going  to  bed. 

Mr.  Saxon  had  closed  the  book  and  was  about 
to  kneel  down  and  pray  when  the  boys*  hymn 
reached  his  ears. 

"lyisten,  listen,  wife,"  he  said  clasping  his 
withered  hands,  ''and  think  of  the  singing  in 
paradise." 

"  With  his  own  blood  he  bought  her — his  holy 
church,"  murmured  Mrs.  Saxon.  "Oh  how  can 
we  refuse  to  hear  him ;  but  those  dear  boys — 
they  must  come  in." 

She  got  up  and  hobbled  to  the  door.  "  Enter, 
laddies,  you  are  always  welcome." 

The  boys  came  quietly  into  the  house  and 
took  off  their  caps.  Bernard  slipped  aside  and 
laid  three  paper  bags  on  a  chair,  but  Mrs.  Sax- 
on's bright  eyes  espied  him. 

"  Now,  laddie,"  she  said,  "  what  have  you  got 
there  ?  Oh,  my,  my,"  and  she  took  up  one  bag 
after  another  and  put  her  head  down  to  it. 
"  Doughnuts  and  cheese  and  a  whole  apple  pie. 
Oh,  father,  father,  we'll  have  a  bountiful  feast 
to-morrow." 

"  Can't  you  eat  some  to-night  ?  "  said  Will. 


TEN  UTTI^E  INDIANS 


275 


his 


"We  don't  dare  to,  my  laddie,  we'd  be  ill. 
No,  father,  don't  look  at  the  pie." 

"  Can  we  do  anything  for  you  ?  "  asked  Jed. 
"  Is  your  wood  brought  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  thank  you,  laddie." 

"  And  your  water  buckets  filled  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  a  neighbor's  boy  came  in  ;  where 
have  you  been  to-day?"  and  Mrs.  Saxon  sur- 
veyed them  affectionately.  "You  smell  fresh 
and  nice,  like  the  woods." 

"Let's  sit  down,  fellows,"  said  Jed,  "and  some 
of  you  that  can  talk  tell  her  how  the  river  looks 
and  the  island.  She's  crippled  and  can't  get 
out,"  he  added  in  a  low  voice  to  Crawford. 

The  boys  sat  down  and  gave  Mrs.  Saxon 
varioiis  bits  of  information,  and  answered  her 
questions  for  about  fifteen  minutes.  Then  Jed 
got  up  and  said,  "  We  must  go." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  say  good-night,"  said  the  old 
woman  looking  at  them  as  affectionately  as  if 
they  were  her  own  sons. 

"  We'll  come  again,"  said  Bernard. 

"  We  were  just  going  to  pray,"  said  the  old 
man  wistfully.     "  Will  you  wait  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  cut  your  prayer  short,"  said  Jed. 

"  Sometimes "  then  he  paused,  not  wishing 

to  be  impolite. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  old  man  humbly. 
"  Sometimes  I  am  rather  long,  but  I'll  be  short 
to-night." 

He  knelt  down,  and  his  wife  and  the  boys  fol- 
lowed his  ex 


(( 


ipl( 


prayed 


O  Lord,  thou  dost  put  into  the  hearts  of 


\ 


276 


TEN  UTTI^E  INDIANS 


these  dear  boys,  who  are  full  of  life  and  strength, 
to  come  and  cheer  two  lonely  old  people.  When 
they  are  old  and  gray-headed  may  they  never 
lack  a  comforter.  Fill  them  with  thy  Spirit, 
dear  Lord.  Now  while  they  are  young  may 
they  believe  on  thee  and  give  their  hearts  to 
thee.  We  ask  this  for  the  sake  of  thy  dear  Son, 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.     Amen." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Jed  gravely  when  they 
got  up.  Then  he  shook  hands  with  the  old 
people. 

The  other  boys  came  behind  him,  and  after 
they  had  filed  out  of  doors  Jed  looked  at  his 
watch.  "  Just  in  time,"  he  said.  "  I  hate  to  be 
late.     Good-night,  Crawford  and  Indians." 

"  Good-night,  Crawford  and  Indians,"  said  the 
other  boys  politely  nodding  to  Will's  guest. 

"  Now  run,"  said  Jed.  "  No  lazy  Indians  in 
this  camp." 

Old  Mrs.  Saxon  leaned  against  the  doorway 
laughing  at  them.  "Such  a  show  of  heels, 
father,"  she  said  to  her  husband.  "All  went 
different  ways.  What  funny  boys.  I  feel  as  if 
a  breath  of  fresh  wind  had  blown  through  our 
little  house  and  it  does  me  good — it  does  me 
good." 

The  little  Indians  were  to  have  a  holiday ;  a 
whole  and  unexpected  holiday.  Their  teacher 
— they  all  happened  to  be  in  the  same  room  at 
school — had  been  called  away  from  them  by  the 
death  of  a  relative,  and  a  substitute  could  not  be 
found  for  her  at  so  short  a  notice. 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


277 


The  little  Indians  gathered  together  and  began 
to  discuss  plans  for  the  next  day.  This  was  in 
the  afternoon,  and  their  holiday  was  to  be  on  the 
morrow.  They  could  not  have  the  canoes,  for 
the  big  Indians  wished  to  use  them  for  a  picnic. 

"I  know,"  said  Bernard.  "Let's  go  down 
the  river  on  the  steamer.  We  haven't  been  for 
a  long  time,  and  Crawford  here — laying  his  hand 
on  the  Montreal  boy's  shoulder — would  like  to 
go.  He  came  to  Fredericton  by  train,  you 
know." 

The  boys  all  assented  to  this.  They  liked  the 
river  trip  and  then  they  were  anxious  to  please 
Crawford,  who  had  become  a  great  favorite  with 
them. 

"  Agreed  then,"  said  Jed.  "  We  meet  to- 
morrow morning  at  eight  sharp  on  the  wharf. 
Don't  be  late." 

"  All  right,  all  right,"  said  the  boys,  and  they 
separated. 

The  next  morning  the  little  Indians  were  seen 
scurrying  down  Regent  Street  to  the  steamboat 
wharf.  It  was  a  charming  morning  and  a  num- 
ber of  people  were  taking  the  boat  for  places 
near  Fredericton  and  for  the  distant  city  of  St. 
John. 

Crawford  watched  the  scene  with  great  in- 
terest. 

"  Watch  out  now,"  said  Will,  "  for  the  draw. 
There  now  we  are  off,"  as  a  loud  whistle  sounded. 
"  Now  look  at  the  railway  bridge." 

The  steamer  slowly  drew  out  from  the  wharf 
and  headed  for  a  long  bridge  over  the  river.    The 


378 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


draw  swung  open — they  could  see  the  two  men 
working  it,  going  round  and  round  on  the  bridge 
— ^the  steamer  passed  through,  and  they  were  on 
their  way  down  the  river. 

"  Look  at  the  train  coming  from  Marysville," 
said  Will.    "  It  must  wait  for  the  draw  to  close." 

Crawford  gazed  in  the  direction  of  the  Nash- 
waak,  then  he  began  to  ask  questions  about  the 
places  they  were  passing. 

There  were  villages  here  and  there  and  white 
farmhouses  standing  among  leafy  trees,  and 
sometimes  they  passed  long  green  islands  with 
barns  on  them. 

"  Are  they  for  hay  ?  "  asked  Crawford  of  Will. 

"Yes,"  said  Will;  "the  farmers  make  it  on 
the  islands  in  summer  and  store  it  in  the  bams, 
and  when  the  river  freezes  over  they  haul  it 
ashore  on  sleds." 

Soon  the  steamer  gave  a  cheery  whistle  and 
began  to  move  toward  the  left  bank  of  the  river. 

Crawford,  looking  ahead,  saw  a  number  of 
people  running  down  to  a  little  wharf.  When 
the  steamer  stopped  beside  it,  some  passengers 
came  on  board  and  a  number  of  men  rolled 
quickly  over  the  wharf  to  the  steamer's  deck 
boxes  and  barrels  containing  potatoes,  tomatoes, 
com,  bags  of  wool,  and  tubs  of  butter.  Some  of 
the  potatoes  rolled  out,  and  the  men  had  great 
fun,  jostling  and  joking  each  other  as  they  ran 
to  pick  them  up. 

"  This  boat  has  another  way  of  picking  up 
passengers,"  said  Bernard,  coming  to  stand  near 
Crawford.     "  Has  Will  told  you  about  it?  " 


TEN  UTTI^B  INDIANS 


279 


"  No,"  said  Crawford. 

"  Well,  you  wait  and  see.  Our  next  stopping- 
place  isn*t  a  stopping-place." 

The  little  Indians  had  all  gathered  under  an 
awning  spread  over  the  deck.  They  went  on 
down  the  river  laughing  and  chattering  with 
each  other  as  usual,  till  after  a  time  Bernard 
said,  "  Now,  Crawford,  keep  your  eyes  open." 

They  were  rapidly  approaching  a  pretty  little 
village,  where  Crawford  could  see  no  sign  of  a 
wharf.  A  boat  had  put  out  from  the  village 
with  some  women  in  it,  which  one  man  was 
rowing.  The  man  pulled  out  vigorously  toward 
the  steamer  and  Crawford  said,  "  He  looks  as  if 
he  wanted  us  to  run  him  down." 

"Come  on,  down  here,"  said  Bernard,  scut- 
tling from  the  deck  down  to  a  place  where  the 
freight  was  stored. 

Here  was  an  opening  in  the  steamer's  side. 
To  Crawford's  amusement  he  saw  the  rower 
cannily  getting  his  boat  into  a  position  near  the 
steamer.     "  We're  slowing  up,"  said  Bernard. 

One  of  the  steamer's  crew  stepped  forward 
with  a  long  hook  in  his  hand.  He  caught  the 
boat  and  drew  it  alongside;  then  letting  some 
steps  down  by  ropes  he  took  the  women  by  the 
hand  and  assisted  them  on  board.  Their  bundles 
were  tossed  after  them,  then  the  little  boat  was 
released  and  with  the  solitary  rower  went  bob- 
bing serenely  up  and  down  in  the  swell  left  in 
the  wake  of  the  larger  craft. 

"That's  funny,"  said  Crawford;  "I'd  like  to 
try  it" 


a8o 


TEN  UTTW  INDIANS 


"  You  can,"  said  Bernard.  "  We're  going  to 
stop  at  a  place  where  they  will  take  us  off  in  a 
boat" 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  way,  I  have  seen  pas- 
sengers taken  off  the  Pacific  steamers  that  run 
along  the  coast  of  Mexico,"  said  a  gentleman, 
who  had  been  observing  the  two  boys. 

"How  was  that,  sir?"  said  Bernard  respect- 
fully. 

"  There  the  passengers  were  placed  in  a  chair 
and  lowered  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer  to  a 
boat.  Once  I  saw  a  man  mischievously  hoisted 
instead  of  being  lowered,  and  he  dangled  up 
aloft  till  his  comrades  saw  fit  to  let  him  down." 

"  He  must  have  felt  queer,"  said  Bernard. 

"Are  you  going  to  St  John?"  asked  the 
gentleman. 

"  No,  sir,  we're  just  having  a  trip  to  lower 
Gagetown  and  back.  We  get  dinner  there  and 
then  take  the  other  steamer  from  St  John  to 
get  home.  Come,  Crawford,  let's  find  the  other 
chaps,"  and  touching  their  caps  to  their  ques- 
tioner they  went  away. 

The  little  Indians  visited  every  nook  and 
comer  of  the  steamer,  which  was  named  for  an 
old  captain  who  used  to  sail  up  and  down  the 
river ;  then  finally  the-  settled  down  in  a  group 
on  deck  to  wait  patiently  till  they  should  arrive 
at  their  destination. 

They  watched  the  cranes  standing  in  the 
water,  lazily  looking  for  fish  or  flying  across  the 
meadows,  their  long  legs  sticking  out  behind 
them,  their  necks  doubled  up  in  front,  and  Craw- 


TEN  UTTW  INDIANS 


281 


)» 


the 


ford  stared  intently  at  a  horse  ferry — a  big,  flat 
boat  with  horses  standing  on  it,  that  surveyed 
curiously  the  man  who  was  sculling  them  across 
the  river. 

At  last  Dicky  Dougall  cried  out,  "There's 
Lower  Gagetown,  and  a  boat  is  putting  out  to 
meet  us.  Won't  they  be  surprised  to  see  eleven 
boys  and  a  dog.  Come  here,  Yarb,"  and  he 
whistled  to  his  Irish  terrier  that  was  running 
about  the  deck. 

Yarb  went  to  his  master,  and  with  a  little 
groan  felt  himself  tucked  under  Dicky's  arm. 

The  boys  all  hurried  below  and  waited  till 
the  little  boat  came  ducking  and  bobbing  up  to 
the  steamer.  Then  with  a  loud  laugh  and  a 
jump  each  lad  sprang  down  the  steps  and  settled 
himself  for  a  row  ashore. 

"  Itook  at  the  dog's  face,"  said  Bernard.  "  He 
looks  as  if  he  had  had  a  fright." 

Yarb  sat  near  his  master  trembling  and  gazing 
alternately  at  the  retreating  steamer  and  the 
dark  blue  water  now  so  near  him. 

"  He  is  frightened,"  said  Dicky.  "  He  hates 
the  water.  Come  here,  old  fellow,"  and  he  took 
him  on  his  knees. 

A  mile  and  a  half  the  two  ferrymen  rowed  the 
lads,  their  boat  sliding  quietly  along  a  green 
shore  where  all  was  verdure  and  freshness. 

"No  mud  flats  here,  Crawford,"  said  Will; 
"and  not  a  bit  of  barrenness.  This  is  a  sweet, 
green  river." 

"  Come  on,  boys,"  said  Jed,  "  let's  sing  to  for- 
get our  hunger.    I'm  starving." 


28a 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


"  So  am  I,  and  I,"  joined  in  the  others,  and  the 
ferrymen  grinned  broadly  as  they  merrily  sang : 

"A  loaf  of  bread, 
A  bit  of  pie, 
We're  not  particular 
You  and  I." 

"  See  those  horses  a-switching  their  tails  under 
them  trees  ?  "  said  one  of  the  boatmen,  nodding 
toward  an  island  where  some  brown  and  white 
animals  were  peacefully  feeding. 

"  Yes,"  said  some  of  the  boys. 

"  They're  my  father-in-law's.  If  you  know 
any  one  in  Fredericton  that  wants  to  buy  let  us 
know,  will  you  ?  " 

"  The  late  summer  isn't  a  good  time  to  sell 
horses,"  said  Jed.  "  However  we'll  make  a  note 
of  it.     Hello,  what's  wrong?" 

Splash,  splash,  and  Dicky's  dog  that  did  not 
like  the  water  had  gone  headlong  into  it. 

"  He's  into  the  river  sure  enough,"  said  Dicky 
with  a  puzzled  face.     "  Come  here,  Yarb." 

The  dog  was  paddling  about  among  the  lily 
leaves  as  if  he  was  distracted,  but  at  the  sound 
of  his  master's  voice  he  clung  to  the  side  of  the 
boat,  and  was  promptly  lifted  in. 

"Hear  him  sneeze,"  said  Dicky,  "and  see  him 
shiver,  and  what  a  silly  face.  In  the  name  of 
common  sense  what  made  you  jump  in,  dog  ?  " 

"  He  thought  he  was  ashore,"  said  one  of  the 
boatman,  looking  at  the  beds  of  yellow  lilies 
whose  leaves  overlapping  showed  no  sign  of  the 
water  below. 


TEN  UTTtB  INDIANS 


283 


"  That's  just  it,"  said  Dicky.  "  You  simple- 
ton," and  he  petted  the  dog,  which  clung  to  him 
with  wet  paws. 

There  was  a  clean  little  hotel  in  the  place  to 
which  the  boys  had  gone.  In  a  short  time  they 
had  had  a  good  dinner  and  were  kicking  their 
heels  on  the  front  veranda. 

**  Aren't  they  gamesome  ?  "  said  a  woman  who 
was  peeping  from  behind  a  window  curtain  at 
them.  "  I  admire  to  hear  them  talk,"  and  she 
smiled  while  listening  to  their  discussion  as  to 
the  direction  in  which  they  should  go  for  a  walk. 

"They're  good  lads,"  said  another  woman. 
"I  think  I'll  show  them  our  birds,"  and  she 
went  out  on  the  veranda  and  said,  '*  Would  you 
like  to  see  my  stuffed  birds  ?  " 

The  boys  all  sprang  up.  They  loved  anything 
that  came  from  the  woods,  and  with  brief  but 
hearty  thanks  they  followed  her  to  a  room  near 
by. 

"  I  say,  what  a  lot,"  exclaimed  Rollo  staring 
about  him.  "How  many  kinds  have  you, 
ma'am  ?  " 

"  About  two  hundred,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  didn't  know  we  had  as  many  wild  birds  as 
that  in  New  Brunswick,"  said  Rollo. 

"  We  have  between  three  and  four  hundred," 
she  said ;  "  but  I  have  not  been  able  to  obtain 
specimens  of  all.  We  have  no  good  book  on 
birds.     I  have  to  use  a  New  England  one." 

"  Do  you  stuff  them  yourself  ?  "  inquired  Jed. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "People  know  that  I 
have  a  collection  and  they  bring  them  to  me." 


284 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


I 


"Crawford,  come  look  at  these  wild  ducks 
with  feathers  like  hair  hanging  down  the  backs 
of  their  necks,"  exclaimed  Will.  "  Aren't  they 
beauties  ?  " 

"My  father  was  once  visiting  the*  Zoo'  in 
London,"  said  Bernard,  "  and  he  saw  some  beau- 
tiful wild  ducks,  and  when  he  asked  the  name 
they  said  they  were  Canadian  ducks;  wasn't 
he  surprised  ?  " 

The  boys  admired  the  finches,  humming-birds, 
blue-jays,  king-fishers,  gulls  and  terns  with  long 
white  wings,  some  blackbirds  with  burnished 
necks,  but  above  all  the  comical  little  saw-whet 
owls. 

"Aren't  they  odd,"  said  Jim;  "they  have 
shoulders  rising  over  their  ears,  haven't  they  ?  " 

"  They  always  look  to  me  like  schoolboys  in 
knickerbockers,"  said  the  woman  who  was  show- 
ing them  about  "  Don't  you  know  the  solemn 
way  they  have  of  looking  at  one  ?  " 

"  Why  do  you  call  them  *  saw-whets '  ?  "  asked 
Crawford. 

"  Because  they  make  a  noise  like  sharpening 
a  saw.  Come  now,  Indians,  this  is  fine,  but  if 
we're  to  have  a  tramp  before  the  steamer  comes 
we  must  be  off.  Thank  you,  ma'am ;  we  like 
anything  of  this  sort  because  we're  in  the  woods 
so  much." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  boys  had  made  up  their 
minds  which  way  to  go,  and  little  knowing  the 
result  that  was  to  hang  on  their  decision  they 
went  trooping  down  the  road. 

They  were  not  boys  to  stay  long  in  the  road. 


TEN  LITTLE  INDIANS 


285 


They  soon  cut  through  an  orchard,  and  went 
past  a  pond  where  willows  grew,  through  a  gate 
and  up  a  hill  over  a  snake  fence.  Then  in  and 
out  they  wound  in  Indian  file  among  scattering 
pines  and  tiny  spruces  to  a  path  that  led  them 
through  the  recesses  of  a  lovely  wood. 

As  they  went  they  stopped  frequently  to  ex- 
amine some  shrub  or  flower,  or  to  listen  to  the 
occasional  note  of  a  bird,  or  to  pry  a  bit  of 
spruce  gum  from  a  tree  and  transfer  it  to  their 
pockets. 

Soon  they  came  upon  a  quiet  pool  where  big 
green  frogs  croaked  and  yellow  lilies  grew  luxu- 
riantly. The  boys  threw  out  sticks  and  stumps 
to  make  a  bridge  and  gathered  a  number  of  the 
yellow  flowers. 

Around  the  edge  of  the  pond  were  many 
muskrat  holes.  "  I  wish  I  could  see  a  muskrat," 
said  Crawford.     "  I  have  never  seen  one." 

"  Wait,"  said  Bernard  ;  "  you  probably  will." 

They  rambled  on  by  other  marshy  pools  full 
of  pretty  water  plants  and  tangled  grasses  and 
clumps  of  the  purple  iris. 

"  It*s  getting  wet,"  said  Jed  who  was  in  ad- 
vance.    "  lyct^s  turn  to  the  right." 

The  boys  followed  him  and  he  conducted  them 
to  a  place  in  the  wood  where  there  was  a  number 
of  round  deep  hollows. 

"Kettle  holes,"  exclaimed  the  boys;  and  to 
Crawford's  surprise  each  lad  sprang  into  a  hol- 
low and  jumped  up  and  down. 

"  Try  it,"  said  Will ;  so  Crawford  too  sprang 
in  one. 


286 


TEN   LITTLE  INDIANS 


**  How  do  you  like  them  ?  "  asked  Jim  as  Craw- 
ford's head  got  lower  and  lower  while  he  hopped 
like  the  other  boys. 

"  Not  much,"  said  Crawford  clambering  out. 
"  I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  through  to  the  other 
side  of  the  earth." 

"  I  believe  you  would,  if  you  stayed  in  long 
enough,"  said  Bernard.  "  That's  a  peculiarity 
of  kettle  holes." 

"  Hush  up,  fellows,"  said  Jed,  who  had  been 
reconnoitering  and  now  came  stepping  quietly 
back.  "  Come  on  and  let  Crawford  see  a  musk- 
rat." 

They  had  approached  the  banks  of  a  small 
river  that  was  making  its  way  toward  the  wide 
St.  John.  The  boys  slowly  ranged  themselves 
along  one  side  of  it.  Jed  pointed  ahead  to  a 
dark  creature  like  a  big  rat  that  was  swimming 
down  the  stream. 

"  It  doesn't  see  us,"  he  whispered  to  Crawford, 
"  muskrats  have  dull  eyes  but  sharp  ears." 

The  muskrat  landed  on  a  tiny  islet  near  them 
and  began  to  nibble  some  tender  grass  that  grew 
there. 

"  What  a  thick  scaly  tail,"  whispered  Craw- 
ford.   I  wish "  then  he  broke  off  his  sentence 

abruptly,  and  stared  at  a  man  who  at  that  in- 
stant appeared  on  the  bank  opposite  them.  He 
was  sauntering  along  carrying  his  gun  on  his 
shoulder  and  was  followed  by  a  dog. 

Dicky  Dougall's  Yarb,  at  the  sight  of  a  mem- 
ber of  his  own  race,  bristled  up  the  hair  on  his 
neck  and  opened  his  mouth  to  bark  across  the 


TEN   UTTLE  INDIANS 


aS; 


stream  ;  but  Dicky  caught  him  up.  The  hunter's 
dog  knew  better  than  to  open  his  mouth  and 
watched  Yarb  in  discreet  silence. 

The  hunter  noticed  the  direction  that  the 
boys'  glances  had  taken,  then  as  quick  as 
thought  his  gun  was  of!  his  shoulder  and  aimed 
at  the  muskrat  that  had  plunged  into  the  river. 

Bang  went  the  gun,  the  muskrat  turned  over 
and  over,  splashed  once  or  twice,  then  the  hunt- 
er's dog  sprang  into  the  river  and  taking  the 
little  animal  in  his  mouth  carried  it  to  his  master. 

The  man  held  the  creature  up  in  his  hand. 
"  It's  back  is  broken,"  the  boys  heard  him  say. 

"  Why  did  you  kill  it  ?  "  called  Jed  across  the 
river  to  him. 

The  hunter  smiled  at  him.  "  I  don't  know, 
my  boy ;  I  always  kill  anything  I  see  when  I 
have  my  gun." 

"  Did  you  want  its  skin  ?  "  Jed  went  on. 

"  No,"  said  the  hunter  carelessly ;  "  I  used  to 
skin  them ;  I  never  bother  now,"  and  he  tossed 
the  dead  animal  back  to  the  islet. 

"You're  not  shooting,"  said  the  man  lazily 
leaning  against  a  tree  and  surveying  the  lads. 

"  No,"  said  Jed.  "  We  think  it's  more  fun  to 
see  the  birds  and  animals  getting  about  and  eu- 
joying  themselves.  We  like  to  live  ourselves 
pretty  well,  and  then  we  belong  to  a  Band  of 
Mercy." 

The  hunter  did  not  reply.  He  was  watching 
a  second  muskrat  that  was  swimming  down  the 
river.  No  one  needed  to  explain  that  it  was  the 
mate  of  the  first  one.     It  was  moving  to  and  fro 


288 


TEN  UTTI*E  INDIANS 


III 


in  the  water  with  its  head  elevated.  It  was 
plainly  looking  for  the  first  one. 

Presently  it  sniffed  at  the  islet  and^climbed  on 
it.  There  was  its  mate,  its  body  not  yet  cold ; 
but  it  would  never  swim  in  the  river  again. 
The  little  creature  with  signs  of  grief  pitiful  to 
see  touched  its  dead  companion  and  the  tiny 
blades  of  grass  hanging  from  its  mouth,  as  if  to 
say,  "Is  it  quite  true?  Are  you  really  dead? 
Can  you  not  eat  that  juicy  grass  and  swim  to  our 
snug  home  by  the  river  bank  with  me  ?  '* 

"  I  wonder  what  he  thinks  now  about  killing 
for  fun  ?  "  muttered  Bernard  with  an  indignant 
glance  at  the  hunter. 

The  man  looked  really  sorry.  "I  wish  I 
could  bring  it  back  to  life,"  he  said ;  and  lifting 
his  gun  he  again  plunged  into  the  wood. 

Suppose  we  stroll  down  to  the  river  bank  and 
get  on  that  hill  and  see  if  there  is  any  sign  of 
the  steamer,"  said  Bernard  after  an  hour  had 
passed. 

Jed  nodded  his  head  and  the  boys  sprang  up 
from  the  bed  of  moss  where  they  had  thrown 
themselves  down  to  rest. 

"  Hasn't  it  a  fixed  time  to  come  ? "  asked 
Crawford. 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  Guy,  who  happened  to 
be  near  him.  "It's  apt  to  be  delayed  at  the 
stopping-places  and  sometimes  it  has  to  stop  at 
more  wharves  than  others." 

Helter-skelter,  running  and  jumping,  the  little 
Indians  took  a  direct  course  for  the  river. 


TEN  UTTI*E  INDIANS 


289 


"  Look  at  the  people  down  there,"  exclaimed 
little  Percy,  who  was  among  the  foremost  ones ; 
"  something's  up." 

Half  a  dozen  men  and  boys  were  standing 
around  a  man  lying  on  a  broad  strip  of  sand. 
The  ten  little  Indians  hurried  to  the  spot  and 
pressing  forward  began  to  ask  questions. 

It  was  the  hunter  who  lay  before  them,  his 
face  purple,  the  water  running  from  his  garments, 
and  his  wet  dog  howling  at  his  head. 

"  Poor  fellow,  he's  gone !  I  pity  his  wife !  too 
bad  he  was  so  stubborn ! "  were  the  exclamations 
that  the  boys  heard. 

"  Tell  us,  quick,"  said  Jed  seizing  a  man  by 
the  sleeve,  "  how  long  was  he  in  the  water?  " 

"  I  dunno,"  said  the  man  slowly ;  "  ten,  fifteen 
minutes,  I  guess." 

Jed,  the  slow,  quiet  lad,  gave  a  kind  of  shout. 
"  Then  he  isn't  dead.  Quick,  -boys,  artificial 
respiration ! " 

The  countrymen  and  lads  fairly  gasped  at  the 
ten  little  Indians.  Like  ten  animated  machines 
they  sprang  at  the  apparently  dead  men. 

He  was  lying  on  his  back ;  they  turned  him 
over  on  his  face  and  let  the  water  run  from  his 
mouth.     Then  over  on  his  back  he  went  again. 

Bernard  tore  off  his  coat,  and  seizing  Jed's 
rolled  them  together  and  put  them  under  the 
man's  shoulders,  while  Jed  stood  over  him  and 
counting  aloud  one,  two,  three,  four,  lifted  the 
hunter's  arms  in  the  air  and  brought  them  down 
on  his  chest  to  imitate  the  action  of  breathing. 

"  For  pity's  sake ;  well,  I  declare,"  ejaculated 


i 


I 


290 


TEN   UTTI.E  INDIANS 


the  men  watching  them.  "  What  be  they  agoing 
to  do?  Tryin*  to  get  the  breath  of  life  back. 
It's  gone,  boys,  it's  gone." 

"  tet  us  alone,"  Jed  exclaimed ;  "  we  can't 
hurt  him,  anyway." 

"  Sol  Smith  has  gone  for  a  barrel,"  said  one 
of  the  boys ;  "  here  he  comes ;  we'll  roll  him." 

"  No,  no,''  said  Jed.  "  Do  you  want  to  kill 
him  ?  " 

The  man,  who  had  just  arrived  trundling  a 
barrel  frantically  down  to  the  river,  stood  and 
gaped  at  them. 

Some  of  the  little  Indians  had  managed  with- 
out interfering  with  the  others  to  strip  off  the 
hunter's  wet  garments  and  expose  his  limbs  to 
the  hot  sun.  They  were  rubbing  him  systemat- 
ically and  thoroughly,  and  every  Indian  had  his 
coat  off  and  spread  under  the  cold  wet  body  of 
the  unconscious  man. 

"  I  say,  doesn't  it  beat  all  to  see  them,"  said 
one  of  the  men.  "Where  did  you  learn  this, 
sonny  ?  " 

"In  school,"  gasped  little  Percy,  who  was 
chafing  a  foot;  "we're  taught  all  this  kind  of 
thing.     We  practise  on  each  other." 

"  One  of  you  fellows  take  my  place  for  a  few 
minutes,"  said  Jed,  lifting  his  red  face,  which  was 
dripping  with  perspiration.  "You're  stronger 
than  I  am.  Mind  nov/,  one,  two,  three,  four,  then 
lift  the  arms." 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  he  asked,  turning  to 
the  late  arrival,  Sol  Smith,  whose  clothes  were 
also  dripping  wet. 


(( 


TEN  UTTLE  INDIANS 


291 


"  He's  terrible  impatient,"  said  Sol,  pointing 
to  the  hunter,  "  and  he  wouldn't  wait  for  me  to 
come  and  row  him  across  to  the  Island  to  look 
at  the  horses,  so  he  took  an  old  shell  he  found 
here  and  started — ^him  that  can't  swim  a  stroke. 
He'd  nearly  got  there,  though,  when  down  he 
went,  he  and  the  leaky  old  tub  that  he  was  in. 
I  dunno  where  his  gun  is.  I  hurried  up,  for  I 
saw  him  go  down,  and  I  dove  and  dragged  him 
out  some  way." 

Jed's  ears  listened  to  what  was  being  said,  but 
his  eyes  never  left  the  hunter's  face. 

"  He's  alive,"  he  said  quietly. 

The  men  pressed  around  with  curious  remarks. 
"My,  but  ain't  it  strange.  Run  for  brandy 
some  one." 

"Not  yet,"  said  Jed,  "not  a  drop  of  anything 
to  drink.     You  would  choke  him." 

"  You'd  better  let  these  boys  run  this  thing,'* 
said  Sol.     "  They're  doing  it  scientific." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  J^,  at  last  dropping  the 
hunter's  arms  by  his  side.  "Now,  boys,  fold 
your  coats  around  him.  We  don't  need  to  carry 
him  to  any  house.  It's  warm  enough  here,  and 
there's  more  fresh  air." 

The  hunter  opened  his  eyes,  stared  up  at  the 
blue  sky,  at  the  men  and  boys  standing  around 
him,  then  said  weakly,  "  Where  have  I  been  ?  " 

"  Rouse  up,  old  man,"  said  Sol  Smith  kindly ; 
"  you've  been  drowned ;  don't  you  remember  ?  " 

The  hunter  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and 
looked  about  him.  "  I  remember,"  he  said,  and 
fell  back. 


292 


TEN  UTTI,E  INDIANS 


"  You'd  better  lie  still  for  a  while,"  said  Jed, 
pulling  a  hat  farther  over  the  man's  brows  to 
shade  his  eyes  from  the  sun. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  the  hunter,  and  pushing 
the  hat  aside,  he  managed  to  stagger  to  his  feet, 
but  quickly  sat  down  again  on  the  sand. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  dead.  Oh,  what 
an  experience,"  and  he  laid  his  face  on  his  arm. 

"  There's  the  boat  whistle,"  said  Jed  calmly. 
"Come  on,  fellows,  we'll  have  to  go.  You're 
all  right  now,"  he  said,  addressing  the  hunter. 
"  Mind  you  don't  over-exert  yourself." 

"  These'  young  chaps  saved  your  life,"  said 
Sol  Smith. 

The  hunter  stared  confusedly  at  them.  "I 
remember  they  didn't  want  me  to  kill  the  musk- 
rat  Boys,  I'll  never  kill  anything  again.  I 
know  now  what  it  is  to  die  myself." 

"That's  right,"  said  Jed.  "Good-bye;  glad 
we  could  help  you,"  and  followed  by  the  other 
Indians  he  threw  his  wet  coat  over  his  arm  and 
started  on  a  brisk  walk  toward  the  wharf. 

"I  know  what  Mr.  Everard  will  say,"  mut- 
tered Will,  who  had  fallen  a  little  behind  with 
Crawford. 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Crawford. 

"  He'll  say,  the  Lord  sent  us  here  to-day,"  re- 
plied Will. 

"  I  guess  he  did,"  said  Crawford  soberly. 


A  week  later  the  ten  little  Indians  were  all 
gathered  in  the  railway  station  to  say  good-bye 
to  Crawford. 


TEN  UTTI^E  INDIANS 


293 


re- 


"  You'll  come  again  next  summer  ?  "  said  Jed, 
gripping  his  hand  hard. 

"  Sure,  if  I  get  an  invitation,"  said  Crawford 
with  a  quizzical  glance  at  Will.  "  I've  had  a  jolly 
time." 

"  Say,  Indians,"  remarked  Bernard  ;  "  did  you 
see  the  bit  in  last  evening's  paper  about  us  ?  " 

The  Indians  looked  at  each  other  rather  sheep- 
ishly. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  the  most  of  them  said ;  then  they 
began  to  talk  of  something  else. 

At  that  minute  the  engine  went  screeching 
by  them ;  the  train  drew  up  and  Crawford  was 
obliged  to  step  into  one  of  the  cars. 

The  ten  little  Indians  went  thoughtfully  home. 
Bernard,  who  lived  in  a  spacious  house  fronting 
the  river,  ran  up  the  staircase  to  his  room  and 
shut  his  door.  Then  he  pulled  from  his  pocket 
a  cutting  from  a  newspaper  and  read  the  follow- 
ing words  to  himself : 

We  had  a  call  yesterday  from  Mr.  Simpkins,  the  well- 
known  resident  of  Lower  Gagetown.  He  wished  to  acknowl- 
edge through  the  columns  of  our  newspaper  the  very  great 
obligation  that  he  is  under  to  a  number  of  boys  who  are 
sons  of  highly  esteemed  citizens  of  Fredericton.  These 
boys  saved  his  life  by  putting  into  practice  the  rules  of  arti- 
ficial respiration.  Mr.  Simpkins  had  fallen  into  the  river 
and  was  apparently  dead.  These  lads  arriving  on  the  spot 
as  he  lay  unconscious,  took  charge  of  him,  and  by  means  of 
methods  used  in  their  school,  and  which  we  cannot  praise 
their  teacher  too  highly  for  imparting  to  them,  managed  to 
counterfeit  natural  breathing  till  his  lungs  were  able  to  do 
their  work.  This  labor  the  boys  accomplished  with  great 
fhtigue  to  themselves.  We  have  heard  before  of  this  club 
of  young  boys,  and  of  various  charitable  and  philanthropic 


«94 


TBN  UTTLB  INDIANS 


schemes  to  which  they  cheerfully  lend  their  aid.  We  gladly 
add  our  words  of  praise  to  those  of  Mr.  Simpkins.  Boys 
that  are  banded  together  for  noble  purposes  as  well  as  enter- 
taining ones  will  make  good  men  and  useful  citizens. 

Bernard  was  a  handsome  lad.  He  looked 
thoughtfully  out  through  the  open  window  over 
the  broad  river.  Then  a  smile  irradiated  his 
face  and  he  folded  the  bit  of  paper  and  put  it 
back  in  his  pocket,  murmuring  as  he  did  so,  **  We 
only  did  our  duty." 


gladly 
Boys 
I  enter- 
i. 

x)ked 
^  over 
d  his 
mt  it 
"We 


"There  was  Tom 


looking  over  and  under  the  ix>tato  leaves." 

Page  298. 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


^- 


»H,  dear,  dear,  this  bed  isn't  half  so  soft  as 
it  used  to  be,"  murmured  a  little  child, 
who  was  tossing  wearily  to  and  fro  on 
her  cot. 

"  And  my  pillow,"  she  went  on,  rais- 
ing herself  on  her  elbov/  and  looking  about  her. 
"  I  guess  there  must  be  sticks  in  it ;  I'll  shake 
them  out,"  and  she  beat  the  little  straw  bolster 
with  both  her  lists. 

Then  she  put  her  head  down  again,  but  the 
bed  did  not  become  more  soft  nor  did  the  sticks 
seem  to  have  left  her  pillow,  and  she  lay  in  the 
semi-darkness — a  child  crying  alone  in  her  grief. 
After  a  long  time  she  fell  asleep  and  did  not 
wake  up  in  spite  of  the  uneasy  dreams  that 
troubled  her  until  a  morning  sunbeam  touched 
her  on  the  forehead. 

At  that  she  opened  her  eyes  and  with  a 
strange  vague  sense  of  trouble  sprang  up  in  bed. 
In  an  instant  it  all  came  back  to  her.  She  had 
lain  down  with  grief,  slept  with  it,  and  now  she 
rose  with  it ;  and  sighing  heavily  she  dressed  her- 
self, and  after  throwing  back  the  little  hinged 
window  in  the  attic  where  she  slept  and  pulling 

295 


296 


JBSSIB^S  DEBT 


off  the  clothes  from  the  cot  went  slowly  down- 
stairs. 

Her  aunt  Maggie,  with  whom  she  lived,  kept 
boarders,  and  when  she  reached  the  kitchen  she 
found  it  full  of  the  smell  of  ham  that  was  being 
fried  for  them. 

"Open  that  other  window,  child,"  said  her 
aunt,  "and  then  run  to  the  Smiths'  for  some 
extra  milk — a  pint  will  do." 

The  grocer,  the  blacksmith,  and  the  school 
teacher,  who  boarded  with  Aunt  Maggie,  were  all 
seated  at  the  table  when  small  Jessie  returned 
with  her  milk  pitcher. 

"  Hurry  up,  child,"  said  her  aunt,  "  pour  that 
milk  into  the  cups  and  then  sit  down  and  get 
your  breakfast.     Where's  Tom  ?  " 

Tom  was  Jessie's  brother,  and  like  most  boys 
he  was  inclined  to  be  lazy  in  the  mornings. 

"  He  is  not  up  yet,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  Well,  go  give  him  a  shake  and  tell  him  if 
he's  not  soon  up  V'U  be  down  on  him  with  a 
little  switch.     Do  >ou  hear ?  " 

"Yes'm,"  said  Jessie;  and  she  toiled  up  the 
back  stairway  to  Tom's  room. 

How  heavy  her  feet  were.  It  really  seemed 
as  if  they  were  made  of  lead. 

"  Tom,"  she  said,  taking  him  by  the  elbow, 

"  you'd  better  get  up ;  Aunt  Maggie  is "  and 

looking  fearfully  behind  her  the  little  girl 
crossed  her  two  forefingers  and  held  them  up 
before  the  boy's  sleepy  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  sakes,  then,  I'll  have  to  hustle,"  he 
said  ;  "  get  out  with  you." 


JBSSIB*S  DBBT 


297 


Jessie  left  the  room  and  in  five  minutes  Tom 
sounded  as  if  he  was  tumbling  down  the  stair- 
way though  in  reality  he  alighted  on  his  feet. 

The  two  children  took  their  breakfast  in 
silence.  Tom  listened  attentively  to  the  con- 
versation between  his  elders,  and  never  missed 
lifting  his  eyes  to  his  aunt  as  she  swept  in  and 
out  of  the  room  bearing  hot  potatoes,  coffee, 
fried  eggs,  and  rolls  in  her  hands. 

Jessie  ate  scarcely  anything  and  never  once 
looked  at  her  aunt. 

When  breakfast  was  over  she  was  called  to 
wash  the  dishes.  As  it  was  Saturday  morning 
there  was  no  school,  and  for  some  time  Jessie 
was  kept  busy  waiting  on  her  aunt  who  was 
making  a  large  supply  of  pies  and  biscuits. 

At  last  the  woman  threw  herself  into  a  rock- 
ing-chair by  one  of  the  kitchen  windows.  "I 
declare  I'm  dead  beat ;  I'll  have  to  rest  awhile. 
You  can  run  outdoors  and  play.  I  wish  your 
mother  hadn't  died  till  you  were  big  enough  to 
make  beds.  Such  a  nuisance  to  bring  up  other 
people's  children,"  she  grumbled. 

Jessie  did  not  say  anything ;  but  she  looked  at 
her  aunt  and  her  lip  quivered. 

Where  was  Tom  she  wondered  as  she  walked 
out  toward  the  barn.  "  Is  he  here  ?  "  she  asked, 
stretching  her  neck  around  the  door  of  an  empty 
stable  where  the  school  teacher  was  employing 
his  holiday  by  cleaning  his  bicycle. 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "  I  think  I  heard 
your  aunt  ordering  him  on  the  war-path  for 
potato  bugs." 


398 


JBSSIB*8  DBBT 


Jessie  went  slowly  up  behind  the  stable  and 
along  a  narrow  ^th  that  led  to  a  potato  patch. 
Yes,  there  was  Tom  down  on  his  knees  in  the 
hot  sun  looking  over  and  under  the  potato 
leaves. 

He  lifted  his  red  face  when  he  heard  her  com- 
ing. "  Hello,  Jessie,"  he  said,  *'  guess  how  many 
I've  caught  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  little  girl.  She  had 
not  a  very  good  idea  of  numbers,  but  she  did  not 
like  to  say  so. 

"Ninety,"  said  the  boy  triumphantly,  "and 
I've  only  been  here  a  short  while.  Help  me 
catch  some,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jessie,  "  I  will ;  here  is  one,"  and 
stooping  down  she  laid  nimble  fingers  on  a  crafty 
insect  that  was  trying  to  conceal  itself  under  a 
curled  leaf. 

"  Kill  him,"  said  Tom  shortly. 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ?  "  asked  the  little  girl. 

"  This  way ;  see,"  and  Tom  laid  the  unfortu- 
nate insect  on  a  flat  stone  and  brought  down  a 
round  one  smartly  on  him. 

Jessie  put  her  bug  on  a  stone  and  held  another 
over  him.     "  Can  he  feel  ?  "  she  asked. 

**  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  guess  not." 

"  S'pose  I  was  a  potato  bug  ?  "  said  Jessie. 

"  Then  you'd  get  smashed,"  said  Tom  cheer- 
fully. 

Jessie  shuddered.  "  I'll  catch  them  if  you'll 
kill  them,"  she  said. 

"  All  right,"  said  Tom ;  "  go  ahead  and  catch 


some. 


)) 


JES8IB*S  DBBT 


299 


After  a  long  time  had  passed  during  which 
Tom  had  caught  and  executed  fifty  bugs,  and 
Jessie  had  only  brought  him  three,  the  boy  grew 
suspicious.  "  I^ook  here,"  he  exclaimed,  **  you're 
duffing  me  and  letting  those  things  go." 

**  S'pose  I  do,"  said  Jessie. 

"  S'pose  you  do,"  sputtered  Tom  ;  "  the  bugs 
will  get  the  potatoes  and  Aunt  Maggie  will  get 
me." 

"  It's  wicked  to  kill  things,"  said  Jessie. 

"  No,  it  ain't ;  not  some  things.  'Spose  we 
didn't  catch  mice." 

"  I'd  let  them  run,"  sai<J  Jessie. 

"Well,  now  you're  not  to  let  those  potato 
bugs  run,"  said  Tom  standing  up  and  looking 
wrathfully  at  her. 

Just  then  the  school  teacher  came  guiding  his 
bicycle  around  the  comer  of  the  stable.  "  Say, 
Mr.  Taxby,"  cried  Tom,  "  is  it  wicked  to  kill 
potato  bugs  ?  " 

**  Wicked  to  kill  them  ?  "  repeated  the  young 
man  winking  his  eyes  in  the  bright  sunlight 
and  trying  to  take  in  the  situation ;  "  not  accord- 
ing to  my  lights." 

"  Jessie  says  it  is,"  growled  Tom ;  "  and  she 
isn't  picking  worth  a  cent." 

"Let  us  summarize  the  matter,*-  said  the 
teacher  leaning  on  his  wheel  and  surveying  the 
children  with  one  of  the  amused  glances  that  he 
so  c^ten  bestowed  on  them  and  that  they  so  cor- 
dially detested.  "  Shall  we  sacrifice  vermin  life 
or  human  life  ?  The  former  by  all  means,  that 
the  latter  may  be  spared ;  but  let  us  sacrifice 


300 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


mercifully,  humanely,  and  rather  as  if  we  sym- 
pathized with  our  victim." 

"  Then  it  ain't  wrong  to  kill  bugs,"  said  Tom 
standing  astride  a  row  of  potatoes  and  looking 
half-angrily  at  the  young  man,  "  not  if  you  do  it 
quick." 

"  Right  you  are,  Mr.  Wizard,"  said  the  young 
man  leaping  on  his  wheel  and  gliding  down  the 
pathway  and  through  the  open  gate  to  the  road. 

Tom  gazed  after  him.  "  You  think  you're 
very  smart,"  he  said  disdainfully ;  then  he  turned 
to  his  sister.  "I  don't  s'pose  you  understand 
half  his  big  words." 

"  No,"  said  Jessie,  "  I  don't.  I've  heard  *  ac- 
cordin'  to  lights '  before,  though." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Tom ;  *'  that  is  something 
that  grows  inside  of  calves ;  and  summarize,  that 
means  belonging  to  the  summer." 

"  And  what  is  wizard  ?  "  asked  Jessie. 

*^It's  a  little  animal  that  runs  along  the 
ground,"  said  Tom.  **  Bother  him,  I'll  put  a  frog 
in  his  water  pitcher  to-night  for  calling  me  that." 

Jessie  sighed  and  went  to  sit  down  on  a  patch 
of  grass.  Her  trouble  had  come  back  to  her 
and  she  had  forgotten  Tom  and  the  teacher. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Jess  ?  "  asked 
Tom  ;  "  you're  so  grumpy  lately." 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  said  the  little  girl,  and 
with  a  half-frightened  look  she  ran  away  from 
him. 


Tom  and  Jessie  lived  in  a  little  sea-coast  ham- 
let called  St.  John's  Rest. 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


301 


One  Sunday  afternoon  they  were  strolling 
along  the  shore.  Away  in  the  distance  was  the 
wide  and  sparkling  sea  where  a  few  sails  stood 
up  like  sharp  white  wings  against  the  sky.  Near 
at  hand  was  the  little  harbor  with  boats  drawn 
up  on  the  beach.  In  the  boats  were  great  heaps 
of  nets,  for  signs  of  mackerel  had  been  seen  and 
at  any  minute  the  signal  might  be  given  for  the 
fishermen  to  put  out  and  catch  them. 

Higher  up  on  the  beach  were  great  iron  pots 
full  of  the  spruce  bark  dye  in  which  the  nets 
were  colored  to  make  them  durable. 

Beyond  the  dye  pots  were  the  little  brown 
houses  of  the  fisher  people.  A  number  of  fisher- 
men sat  in  their  cottage  doors  exchanging  re- 
marks about  the  weather  and  watching  the 
games  of  their  children  who  were  playing  on 
the  sand. 

Tom  had  ordered  Jessie  to  come  for  a  walk 
with  him.  He  loved  his  little  sister,  yet  he  was 
very  fond  of  ordering  her  about. 

"  Jessie,"  he  said  when  they  were  some  dis- 
tance beyond  the  last  group  of  children,  "I 
want  you  to  tell  me  what  is  up  with  you." 

**  What's  up  with  me,"  repeated  Jessie  feebly. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that,"  he  said  curling  his  brown  fists 
and  frowning  at  her.  "  What's  wrong  ?  You're 
mopy  and  mumbly,  and  I  want  to  know.  Are 
you  sick  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Jessie,  "  I  am  not." 

"  Has  Aunt  Maggie  been  hatefuUer  than  usual 
to  you?"  he  asked. 


1 


■| 


"1 

til 


302 


JBSSIE'S  DEBT 

"  No,  she  hasn't,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  I'll  give  you  till  we  get  to  those  rocks,"  said 
the  boy;  "then  you've  got  to  tell  me."  And 
seizing  his  sister's  hand  he  started  her  on  a  run 
over  the  firm  beach. 

Jessie  made  no  resistance.  She  was  a  very 
meek  little  girl,  but  she  was  also  a  very  deter- 
mined one,  and  pressing  her  lips  together  she 
muttered,  "  I  sha'n't  tell  you,  Tom  Flagg." 

Soon  they  reached  the  heap  of  black  rocks, 
which  had  seemed  very  far  ahead  of  them  when 
they  first  started.  Both  children  were  so  ex^ 
hausted  that  they  fell  on  the  sand.  Then  after 
the  happy  manner  of  childhood  the  boy  forgot 
his  grievance  and  the  girl  her  trouble,  and  they 
both  laughed  long  and  heartily. 

"  I  say,  what  a  pretty  shell,"  exclaimed  Tom 
at  last  beginning  to  dig  in  the  sand.  "  I  saw  it 
first.     It's  mine." 

"  I  saw  it  first,"  pouted  Jessie,  "  but  I  didn't 
sneak  " 

"  Well,  I'll  give  it  to  you,"  said  Tom,  "  if 
you'll  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  you." 

Jessie  shook  her  head.  "  I  shall  not  tell  you, 
Tom  Flagg,  and  you  can  just  tease  all  you 
like." 

"  Maybe  I'll  slap  you  if  you  don't,"  said  Tom 
snappishly. 

"  I  don't  guess  you  will,"  said  the  little  girl 
shaking  her  head.  "  Do  you  'member  the  time 
when  you  hit  me  and  I  cried  ?  " 

Tom  hung  his  head.  "  Oh,  stop  your  talk," 
he  said  feebly. 


(( 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


303 


"  And  if  you  slap  me  I'll — I'll  tell  Aunt  Mag- 
gie," said  the  little  girl. 

"No  you  won't,"  said  the  boy  indignantly; 
"  you're  no  tattle-tale." 

Jessie  pretended  to  be  very  much  interested  in 
a  crab  that  seemed  uncertain  which  way  to 
take  along  the  sand. 

"I  hate  Aunt  Maggie,"  said  Tom  dreamily. 
"Some  day  I  am  going  to  run  away." 

"  Oh  Tom,"  said  Jessie. 

"  Yes,  V\l  be  off  for  a  cabin  boy,"  said  Tom, 
"  next  fall,  when  the  men  go  to  the  Banks." 

"  Tom,  stop,"  said  the  little  girl  beginning  to 
cry. 

"  Yes,  I'll  go,"  said  Tom,  "  unless  you'll  tell 
me  that  secret." 

He  had  Jessie  now,  she  was  caught  firmly  in 
the  net  of  sisterly  affection. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  she  said  beginning  to  cry  dismally 
and  quietly,  "  I  don't  want  to  tell  you,  but  if  you 
run  away  Til  have  nobody — I'll  have  to  jump  off 
tho-c,;  old  rocks." 

"  That  wouldn't  hurt  you,"  said  Tom. 
'  When  the  tide  is  high,"  said  Jessie  wiping 
her  eyes  with  her  little  checked  apron.     "  Then 
I  would  drown." 

"Yes,  you  would  drown  at  high  tide,"  said 
Tom,  "  if  you  would  stay  under ;  but  Jess,  you 
can  swim." 

"  I'd  tie  my  hands,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"I  wonder  what  makes  Aunt  Maggie  so— 


so- 


»> 


and  Tom  hesitated  for  a  word. 


"  So  scratchy,"  said  his  sister ;  "  she's  just  like 


1 

1 


304 


JBSSIK'S  DEBT 


a  comb  that  tears  your  hair  and  it  makes  you 
cross." 

"  She  is  mad  *cause  mother  died,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  father,"  added  Jessie ;  "  but  he  couldn't 
help  being  drowned." 

"  I  wish  she'd  got  drowned  herself." 

"  Me  too,"  said  little  gentle  Jessie,  and  a  big 
tear  rolled  down  her  cheek. 

"Jessie,"  said  Tom  turning  suddenly  and 
pouncing  on  her,  "  tell  me  that  secret  this 
minute.     You  promised." 

Jessie  began  to  whimper  and  twisted  her  apron 
in  her  hand.     "  Oh  Tom,  you'll  never  tell  I " 

"Never,"  he  said  holding  her  firmly  by  the 
arm  lest  she  should  escape  him. 

"  It's — ^it's  about  a  locket,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  Whew,"  said  Tom ;  "  what  locket  ?  " 

"  My  locket,"  said  the  child,  and  even  in  the 
midst  of  her  evident  perplexity  she  spoke  with 
some  pride.  "  I^ook  here,"  and  she  drew  out  of 
her  pocket  a  little  brass  heart  containing  a  bright 
red  stone.  "  Ain't  that  just  sweet,  Tom  ?  "  and 
she  tied  it  round  her  neck  by  a  bit  of  velvet 
ribbon. 

Tom  stared  at  it  in  mingled  surprise  and 
admiration. 

"  Ain't  it  lovely  ?  "  said  Jessie. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"At  Jones'." 

Tom  did  not  ask  where  Jones'  was.  He  knew 
quite  well  that  it  was  the  shop  in  the  neighbor- 
ing town  of  Seacliffe  where  his  aunt  did  her 
trading. 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


305 


and 


"  Who  gave  it  to  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nobody ;  I  bought  it,"  and  Jessie  hung  her 
head. 

"  You — bought — ^it  ?  "  and  Tom  stared  at  her. 
Ready  money  was  a  scarce  article  in  St.  John's 
Rest  and  the  two  children  rarely  had  even  a  cent 
to  spend. 

"Yes,"  ejaculated  Jessie,  "I  bought  it,  and 
Mr.  Jones  he  charged  it ;  and  how  shall  I  pay 
for  it,  Tom  ?  I  don't  know,"  and  the  little  girl 
dropped  her  head  on  her  hands  and  began  to  cry 
hopelessly. 

"  Wiiew,"  said  Tom  again,  "  you've  got  your- 
self into  a  pickle  this  time,  miss.  If  Aunt  Mag- 
gie knew  it,  wouldn't  she  give  it  to  you.  Maybe 
she  would  put  you  in  a  closet  as  she  did  me 
when  I  broke  her  old  china  bowl." 

"  I  'spect  she  would,"  said  Jessie  mournfully. 
"  Oh  Tom,  how  shall  I  pay  for  this  locket  I " 

"  How  much  was  it  ?  " 

"More'n  five  cents,"  said  Jessie  looking  at 
him  out  of  the  comers  of  her  eyes. 

"  Five  cents,"  said  the  boy ;  "  you  are  a 
dasher." 

"  More'n  ten,"  said  Jessie. 

"  Won't  you  catch  it,"  said  Tom  cheerfully. 

"  It  was  fifteen,"  said  Jessie  desperately,  and 
she  looked  far  out  at  sea  so  that  she  might  not 
see  the  expression  of  her  brother's  face. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  little  sandpipers  went  sliding  up  and  down 
the  beach  close  to  them,  the  gulls  swooped 
down  and  almost  touched  their  heads,  and  the 

u 


1 


1 


3o6 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


black  rocks  seemed  to  rear  themselves  more 
frowningly  behind  them. 

"  Aunt  Maggie  will  kill  you,"  said  Tom  at 
last. 

L/ittle  Jessie's  face  became  so  pale  and  terrified 
that  the  boy  was  frightened. 

"Come  now,  rough  up,  rough  up,"  he  said, 
slapping  her  on  the  back.  "  Let's  try  to  get  some 
money.     'Spose  v  e  look  at  the  bank." 

"  I  did,"  murmured  Jessie  in  a  voice  so  low 
that  he  could  scarcely  hear  her. 

"  You  touched  my  bank  !  "  said  Tom  warmly. 

His  bank  was  a  never-failing  source  of  interest 
to  him.  He  had  always  listened  to  the  talk  of 
the  grown-up  people  in  the  house,  but  rarely 
asked  a  question.  Having  heard  them  speak  of 
the  increase  of  money  in  the  banks,  he  and  Jes- 
sie had  with  infinite  trouble  collected  three  cents 
and  buried  them  in  a  bank  of  earth.  To  this 
bank  they  often  went  and  digging  up  the  cents 
looked  carefully  for  the  others  that  they  expected 
to  find  beside  them.  At  first  they  had  been  full 
of  faith,  now  they  were  beginning  to  doubt 

"There  were  not  any  more  coppers  there," 
said  Jessie  with  a  burst  of  despair ;  "  it  is  a  bad 
bank — a  bad  bank.  I  can't  get  any  money  any- 
where. Aunt  Maggie  will  send  me  to  prison," 
and  throwing  herself  on  her  face  she  sobbed  and 
screamed  and  tore  up  the  sand  with  her  fingers. 
She  was  in  a  passion  of  childish  grief  and  terror, 
and  Tom,  who  had  never  seen  her  like  this  be- 
fore, sprang  up  and  scuffled  to  and  fro  with 
angry  eyes  rolling  about  him,  and  ejaculated 


ui 


low 


» 


any- 


>» 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


307 


fiercely,  "  I  wish  Aunt  Maggie  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea." 

After  a  time  Jessie's  grief  exhausted  itself  and 
she  allowed  Tom  to  take  her  hand  and  guide  her 
home.  Soberly  and  mournfully  the  two  trotted 
along  together,  never  once  turning  to  look  back 
at  the  black  rocks  where  some  one  was  peeping 
over  a  ledge  and  watching  their  retreating  fig- 
ures. 

After  they  were  out  of  sight  this  some  one 
came  out  from  behind  the  rocks  and  shook  her 
skirts.     It  was  Aunt  Maggie. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  she  exclaimed,  looking  about 
at  the  sea  and  the  sky  as  Tom  had  done,  "  that's 
all  the  thanks  you  get  for  bringing  up  other 
people's  children.  They  wish  me  at  the  bottom 
of  the  sea  do  they  ?  And  I  came  out  here  to  get 
a  little  peace  and  quietness  this  Sunday  after- 
noon— ^the  only  holiday  I  have.  I'm  glad  I  came 
though  and  chanced  to  hear  their  talk." 

Aunt  Maggie  did  not  look  very  glad.  Her 
face  was  red  and  angry  just  like  Tom's.  She 
walked  with  quick  vicious  steps  in  the  direction 
of  her  home,  still  talking  to  herself.  When  she 
came  in  sight  of  the  first  house  in  the  hamlet 
she  calmed  down  a  little  and  tried  to  smooth  her 
ruffled  brow. 

There  was  a  woman  sitting  on  the  doorstep  of 
this  house  holding  a  baby  in  her  arms. 

"  Good  evening.  Miss  Flagg,"  she  said  quietly 
when  she  saw  Aunt  Maggie. 

'*Good  evening,"  said  Aunt  Maggie. 


i 


3o8 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


"Sit  down  a  spell,  won't  you?"  said  the 
woman. 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do,  Mrs.  Chase.  I'm  fagged 
out,"  said  Aunt  Maggie  sitting  down  on  the 
doorstep  beside  her.  "  I  work  hard  all  the  week 
and  when  Sunday  comes  it  seems  as  if  I  hadn't 
any  strength." 

"  We  all  have  to  work,"  said  Mrs.  Chase. 

"  Yes,  we  work,"  snapped  out  Aunt  Maggie, 
"and  get  ro  thanks  for  it.  What  with  three 
boarders  and  two  children  who  are  always  grum- 
bling I  have  a  pretty  hard  time  of  it.  I  expect 
folks  think  I  am  a  reg'lar  pepper-box." 

Mrs.  Chase  smiled.  Aunt  Maggie's  queer 
temper  was  well  known  all  through  the  length 
and  breadth  of  St.  John's  Rest.  "Your  chil- 
dren never  talk,"  she  said ;  "  they  are  quiet  com- 
pared with  other  children.  I  never  hear  a  word 
of  what  goes  on  in  your  house  through  them." 

"  Nothing  ever  comes  back  to  me  "  said  Aunt 
Maggie ;  "  but  I  always  s'posed  they  talked.  All 
children  do." 

"  They  don't  seem  as  if  they  were  just  happy," 
said  Mrs.  Chase  with  some  hesitation.  "  I  no- 
ticed them  just  now  going  home." 

"  I've  slaved  and  toiled  for  those  children  as 
if  they  were  my  own,"  said  Aunt  Maggie  ear- 
nestly. "  I've  even  laid  by  a  little  sum  for  each 
of  them.  Don't  I  dress  them  better  than  any 
other  children  round  about  ?  Don't  I  send  them 
to  school  reg'lar  and  give  them  trips  to  Sea- 
cliffe?" 

Mrs.  Chase  looked  down  at  her  sleeping  baby 


JBSSIB^S  DBBT 


309 


>i 


baby 


with  an  expression  of  unutterable  love  on  her 
face.  "  Do  you  ever  kiss  them  ?  "  she  asked  half- 
shyly. 

Aunt  Maggie  was  off  tlie  doorstep  in  an  in- 
stant, her  face  flaming.  "I  don't  believe  in 
molly-coddling,"  she  said ;  "  my  sister  was  a 
Flagg  and  married  a  Flagg.  When  she  died 
and  he  died  I  took  the  children.  I  consider  I've 
done  my  duty  by  them.  What  other  folks  think 
I  don't  care.  Good  evening  to  you,"  and  she 
flounced  away. 

Mrs.  Chase  looked  after  her  with  a  demure 
smile.  "The  shoe  pinches,  the  shoe  pinches, 
and  I  am  glad  it  does." 

Aunt  Maggie  acted  rather  queerly  on  the  way 
home.  She  kept  sniffing  and  tossing  her  head 
as  if  she  were  angry,  and  she  made  a  wide  de- 
tour around  some  fields  to  avoid  passing  a  certain 
little  house  where  she  had  been  brought  up. 

With  her  young  sister,  the  mother  of  these 
children,  she  had  roamed  these  fields  and  played 
on  the  beach.  What  a  long  time  ago  it  seemed. 
Well,  she  had  nothing  with  which  to  reproach 
herself;  she  had  nursed  her  sister  through  a 
long  illness  and  had  buried  her  decently  and 
had  taken  the  children  to  bring  up. 

Why  then  did  she  cry  ?  For  tears  were  cer- 
tainly rolling  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Bother,"  she  said,  and  dashing  them  away 
she  fairly  ran  home,  and  plunging  into  the 
kitchen  she  put  the  kettle  on  for  tea  and  rushed 
about  from  room  to  room  like  a  whirlwind. 


I 


310 


JBSSIB'b  DBBT 


"  Where  is  Jessie  ?  "  she  said  when  Tom  came 
in  to  get  the  buckets  for  well  water. 

"  Jessie's  sick,"  he  said  shortly ;  "  she's  gone  to 
bed." 

Aunt  Maggie  said  nothing  except  to  signify  to 
him  by  a  gesture  that  he  had  better  hurry. 

A  few  minutes  later,  when  they  were  all  seated 
at  the  tea-table  except  little  Jessie,  Aunt  Maggie 
broke  out  with  a  vehement  remark :  "  It's  a 
wicked  shame  that  we  don't  have  any  Sunday- 
school  in  this  place  for  the  children." 

The  grocer,  the  blacksmith,  and  the  school- 
teacher looked  at  her. 

"  There  were  the  boys  and  girls  this  afternoon 
all  down  on  the  beach  like  so  many  heathen,'* 
pursued  Aunt  Maggie.  "  We  needn't  sing  about 
India's  coral  strand.  I'm  going  to  make  a  move 
and  start  a  Sunday-school." 

"We  shall  have  one  then,"  murmured  the 
school  teacher ; "  you  are  a  person  of  great  energy, 
Miss  Flagg." 

"I'll  bi^n  this  very  week,"  said  Maggie,  "to 
takf.  it  up.  There  are  enough  Christian  people 
in  this  place  to  have  a  Sunday-school,  and  we 
ought  to  have  a  prayer  meeting  once  a  week  too. 
It's  shameful  that  we've  only  one  preaching 
service  a  month.  I  declare,  we  need  a  mission- 
ary here." 

"  Some  of  us  do  powerful  bad,"  said  the  black- 
smith ;  "  others  not  so  much." 

"  I  do,"  said  Aunt  Maggie ;  "  I  am  not  what  I 
ought  to  be." 

No  one    contradicted    her,  and  she  turned 


JBSSIE*S  DBBT 


3" 


)i 


(( 


to 


sharply  to  Tom.  "Tom,  do  you  know  who 
Moses  was  ?  '* 

No,  Tom  didn't,  and  he  stared  at  her  in  sulky 
silence. 

"  There  now,"  she  said,  "  you  see." 

Again  nobody  contradicted  her,  but  she  had 
aroused  a  train  of  thought  and  her  hearers  took 
the  rest  of  their  tea  in  silence. 

After  tea  was  over  she  washed  her  dishes  and 
went  upstairs  to  Jessie.  Tom  retreated  to  a  cor- 
ner of  the  attic  when  he  saw  her. 

"  Jessie,"  she  said  kindly,  "  can  you  eat  some- 
thing?" 

"  Fm  not  hungry,"  said  the  little  girl. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  asked  her 
aunt. 

The  child  gave  her  one  glance  from  a  pair  of 
frightened  eyes,  then  turned  her  head  away  from 
her. 

Aunt  Maggie  saw  a  tear  stealing  down  the 
smooth  brown  cheek  and  she  felt  as  if  something 
had  suddenly  pierced  her  own  soul.  What  tor- 
tures the  little  heart  was  enduring. 

"Jessie,"  she  said,  "if  you  will  get  well  by 
Tuesday  I'll  put  off  the  ironing  and  take  you  to 
Seacliffe  with  me." 

The  child  clung  to  the  wooden  sides  of  her 
cot  and  half  raised  herself  from  the  bed.  To 
go  to  SeaclifiFe — to  face  Mr.  Jones  without  the 
money  for  the  locket — ^to  have  him  expose  her 
naughtiness  in  running  up  a  bill  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  aunt — how  could  she  do  it  ? 
She  must  stay  at  home ;  yet  her  aunt  would  go. 


I 


313 


JESSIB^S  DBBT 


She  would  find  out ;  and  little  Jessie,  stupid  with 
fright,  gazed  speechlessly  about  her. 

"And  I  shall  give  you  twenty-five  cents  to 
spend,"  said  Aunt  Maggie,  "in  any  way  you 
like,  and  I  shall  not  ask  you  what  you  have 
done  with  it." 

Jessie  fell  back  on  her  pillow.  What  balm  to 
her  soul,  what  delicious  music  to  her  ears  the 
words  were  ;  yet  could  it  be  true  ?  Her  aunt  had 
never  been  known  to  do  such  a  thing  before. 
Was  it — could  it  be  possible  that  the  long-drawn- 
out  misery  of  the  past  week  was  over? 

"  Yes,  we  shall  go,"  said  Aunt  Maggie ;  "  so 
hurry  and  get  well,  and  here  is  the  twenty-five 
cent  piece  to  look  at,"  and  she  drew  it  from  her 
pocket. 

Jessie  clasped  it  as  a  starving  child  would 
clasp  a  morsel  of  bread.  Then  turning  her  back 
to  her  aunt  she  buried  her  face  in  her  straw 
bolster. 

Aunt  Maggie  went  away.  She  had  been 
hasty  and  severe  with  the  children ;  it  would 
be  some  time  before  she  could  gain  their  confi- 
dence. 

Tuesday  came ;  the  clothes  were  sprinkled  and 
folded  and  put  away  in  a  basket,  and  Aunt 
Maggie  and  Jessie  went  to  Seacliffe. 

Tom  had  to  go  to  school;  but  he  did  not 
mind  missing  the  trip  to  the  town,  for  his  aunt 
had  promised  to  take  him  the  next  time  she 
went.  Then  he  loved  his  sister,  and  while  he 
bent  over  his  lessons  he  kept  repeating  to  him- 


JBSSIB'S  DBBT 


313 


self,  "  She  has  paid  for  the  locket,  she  has  paid 
for  the  locket,  and  now  she'll  not  be  grumpy." 

Jessie  was  not  only  less  grumpy  but  she  was 
positively  wild  with  delight.  Seated  beside  her 
aunt  she  was  driving  home  along  a  beautiful 
winding  road.  In  the  back  of  the  wagon  were 
numerous  interesting  purchases:  a  game  for 
Tom,  a  red  dress  for  herself,  and  a  new  hat  and 
gloves  and  some  fruit  and  candy. 

She  was  so  happy,  she  must  do  something. 
Suppose  she  told  about  the  twenty-five  cents. 

"  Aunt  Maggie,"  she  said  shyly,  "  you  haven't 
asked  me  what  I  did  with  my  money." 

**  No,"  said  Aunt  Maggie,  "  I  haven't." 

*^  I  bought  something  with  it,  something  I  just 
love,"  said  Jessie  enthusiastically.  "  See,"  and 
putting  up  her  hand  she  drew  the  little  locket 
from  the  bosom  of  her  dress. 

"  Ain't  it  lovely  ?  '*  said  the  little  girl  eying 
her  aunt  somewhat  doubtfully. 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  it,"  said  Aunt  Maggie. 

"I've  wanted  one,  oh,  ever  so  long,"  said 
Jessie,  "  ever  since  that  little  city  girl  came  to 
the  beach  and  had  one  on.'* 

"  How  much  was  it?  "  asked  Aunt  Maggie. 

"  Fifteen  cents,"  said  Jessie,  "  and  I  spent  the 
rest  in  popcorn  for  Tom." 

Aunt  Maggie  said  nothing  for  a  time.  She  was 
wondering  whether  Jessie  was  going  to  confess 
that  she  had  not  bought  the  locket  to-day,  but 
had  only  paid  for  it. 

"I  didn't  see  any  lockets  like  that  in  Mr. 
Jones'  show-case,"  she  said  at  last 


314 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


Jessie  looked  nervously  at  her.  "I  didn't 
know  you  were  on  that  side  of  the  store,"  she 
replied. 

"  Yes,  I  walked  over,"  said  Aunt  Maggie. 

Jessie  trembled  and  Aunt  Maggie  seeing  it 
trembled  too.  "  O  Lord,  forgive  me,"  she  mis- 
erably ejaculated.  "How  many  times  I  have 
frightened  this  little  soul  into  telling  a  lie." 

"  I  bought  the  last  one,"  faltered  Jessie. 

Aunt  Maggie  suddenly  took  both  the  reins  in 
her  strong  right  hand  and  put  her  left  arm 
around  the  little  girl.  "  Tell  me  all  about  the 
locket,"  she  said  and  kissed  her. 

Jessie  was  too  happy  to  cry,  and  she  was  too 
much  confused  to  refuse  her  aunt's  request. 
Before  she  fairly  understood  what  she  was  doing 
she  had  told  the  whole  story  of  her  trouble. 

"  And  you've  carried  that  locket  about  a  whole 
week  without  daring  to  wear  it,"  said  Aunt 
Maggie. 

"Yes'm,  and  it  felt  like  a  barrel  in  my 
pocket,"  said  Jessie  ;  "  now  I  can  wear  it  all  the 
time,  can't  I  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Maggie.  Then  she  added, 
"  Why  were  you  so  anxious  to  pay  for  it  ?  I 
have  never  told  you  not  to  run  in  debt." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Jessie. 


<i 


"It's  just  in  you,"  said  her  aunt;  "your 
mother  was  like  that  She  would  tell  stories 
too.     You  know  it  is  wicked,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  it  is,"  said  Jessie. 

"  Why  is  it  wicked  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Maggie, 

"  I  don't  know." 


JESSIE'S  DEBT 


315 


"Lord,  forgive  me,"  groaned  Aunt  Maggie. 
"I  haven't  given  these  children  any  religious 
training ;  but  I'll  begin  now." 

Several  weeks  went  by.  The  Sunday-school 
had  been  started  and  Aunt  Maggie  with  secret 
pleasure  heard  both  Tom  and  Jessie  requesting 
to  be  put  in  her  class. 

"  Seems  as  if  Aunt  Maggie  is  lots  nicer  than 
she  used  to  be,"  said  Jessie  as  they  waited  out- 
side the  schoolhouse  for  her  one  day  after  Sun- 
day-school was  over. 

"  Yes,  she  is,"  said  Tom ;  "  I  guess  I'll  not  run 
away  now.  Here  she  is,"  and  they  walked  along 
the  grass-bordered  road  beside  her. 

"  Didn't  we  have  a  nice  lesson  to-day  ?  "  said 
Aunt  Maggie. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jessie,  "  I  wish  I  had  known 
about  trusting  Jesus  every  day  when  I  bought 
the  locket.  Can  I  really,  truly  tell  him  every 
little  bit  of  trouble,  auntie  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Maggie ;  "  Jesus  will  help 
us  with  everything  we  take  to  him.  If  we  try 
to  bear  things  alone  it  almost  kills  us." 

"  And  I  didn't  know  he  was  sorry  when  little 
boys  and  girls  told  stones,"  said  Jessie ;  "  we've 
told  lots,  haven't  we,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  her  brother. 

"  Now,"  said  Jessie  thoughtfully,  "  I  stop  to 
think — I  must  not  grieve  the  gentle  Jesus,  meek 
and  mild,  and  if  we  tell  stories  we  shall  be 
'shamed  to  go  to  heaven.  I  love  the  Bible 
stories,"  and  she  afifectionately  pressed  her  Tes- 


3i6 


JBSSIE*S  DEBT 


x 


tament  to  her  cheek.  "  What  will  you  tell  us 
to-night,  auntie  ?  " 

**  About  Samuel,  I  think,'*  said  Aunt  Maggie. 

"  That's  a  boss  story,"  said  Tom.  "  I  know 
how  it  goes.  Speak  Lord,  for  thy  little  boy  is 
listening." 

"We  shall  read  it  together,"  said  Aunt 
Maggie.  "  Children,  I  want  to  tell  you  so*ae- 
thing — '1  was  out  on  the  sands  behind  those 
rocks  that  day  when  you  wished  I  was  dead." 

The  children  both  stopped  short  in  the  road. 
Tom's  face  grew  crimson,  and  Jessie's  grew  pale. 
Their  aunt  had  been  so  kind  to  them  lately. 
Would  this  make  a  difference  ? 

"  I'm  not  going  to  talk  about  it,"  said  Aunt 
Maggie  hastily,  "  only  to  say  I  happened  to  be 
there  and  couldn't  help  hearing  you.  Now  let 
us  go  home  and  get  tea.  I  have  honey  in  the 
comb  to-night  for  you." 

"  Auntie,  I'm  sorry  I  said  I  wish  you  were 
dead,"  whispered  Jessie  that  evening  when  her 
aunt  bent  over  her  cot  to  kiss  her  good-night 
"  I  pray  every  night  to  Jesus  Christ  to  make  you 
weller  and  stronger  so  you  can  live  always  and 
always  with  us." 

"  Aunt  Maggie,"  said  Tom,  starting  up  and 
peering  through  the  darkness  as  she  went  to 
tuck  him  in  his  bed,  "  a  feller  often  says  what 
he  doesn't  mean." 

"  And  a  woman  too,  Tom,"  said  Aunt  Maggie 
bending  over  him.  "  I've  a  rough  tongue ;  but 
all  the  Plaggs  had  soft  hearts  and  I  guess  we're 
like  them.     I've  always  loved  you  and  Jessie, 


JSSSIB'S  DBBT 


317 


but  IVe  never  thought  to  tell  you  so— that  was 
the  mischief  of  it,  and  when  you  said  you  wished 
I  was  dead  it  cut  me  like  a  knife.  Thank  God, 
I  heard  you.  I'll  be  cross  to  you  again  maybe, 
for  if  I  don't  pray  every  hour  in  the  day  my 
tongue  runs  away  with  me ;  but  keep  this  in 
mind,  you're  my  children  and  I  love  you. 

Tom  was  not  a  demonstrative  boy;  but  he 
understood  her,  and  reaching  up  a  hand  he 
softly  touched  her  cheek  before  he  lay  down 
again. 


XI 
PROUD  TOMMIE 


[^ROUD  TOMMIE  sat  on  a  little  stool  under 
an  apple  tree  reading  a  story  book  as  the 
sun  went  down. 

It  was  a  most  interesting  book,  and 
she  scarcely  lifted  her  eyes  from  the 
pages  till  she  came  to  number  twenty.  Then 
she  looked  up  with  a  gesture  of  impatience  as 
she  read  some  lines  written  in  a  round,  childish 
hand  across  the  page : 

If  my  name  you  want  to  see, 
Tern  to  page  thirty-three. 

Tommie  knew  very  well  whose  book  it  was. 
She  had  read  these  lines  many  times  before, 
for  it  was  a  custom  among  the  school  children 
to  scribble  them  in  almost  every  book  that  they 
owned,  yet  from  force  of  habit  she  turned  to 
page  thirty-three  and  there  slowly  read  the 
words : 

Now  you  are  left  as  you  were  before, 
Tern  to  page  forty-four. 

The  little  girl  patiently  turned  over  some 
318 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


319 


more  leaves.  Forty-four,  there  it  was  at  last, 
and  she  knew  what  was  written  on  it  long  before 
she  got  to  it : 

Now  you  see  you're  in  a  fix, 
Tern  to  page  sixty-six. 

Over  to  page  sixty-six  went  Tommie — 

If  my  name  you  cannot  find, 
Tern  to  page  seventy-nine. 

The  rhyme  here  was  not  very  good,  but  Tom- 
mie never  thought  of  that.  She  licked  her 
little  fingers  and  rapidly  filipped  over  the  leaves, 
for  she  was  anxious  to  conclude  this  business  of 
looking  for  the  owner's  name  so  that  she  might 
get  on  with  the  story. 

Page  seventy-nine  told  her  jestingly  that  she 
had  had  a  look  and  she  had  better  turn  to  the 
back  of  the  book. 

Turn  was  at  last  spelled  correctly,  and  with 
one  more  flutter  of  the  leaves  Tommie  was  at 
the  end  of  her  journey,  finding  just  what  she 
had  expected — 

Greta  M.  Moore  owns  this  little  book,  , 

She  lives  in  the  house  by  the  deep  meadow  brook. 

Tommie  heaved  a  sigh  of  satisfaction,  and 
was  just  about  to  make  her  way  back  to  page 
twenty,  when  her  eye  was  caught  by  a  rough 
sketch  on  one  of  the  blank  leaves. 

She  examined  it — at  first  carelessly,  and  then 


320 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


curiously^  then  angrily,  till  finally  she  flung  the 
pretty  volume  on  the  grass — ^and  springing  from 
her  stool  she  stamped  on  it,  exclaiming  furiously, 
"I  hate  that  Greta  Moore  1 " 

The  apple  tree  under  which  she  stood  was 
situated  on  a  little  patch  of  grass  in  front  of  a 
small  brown  cottage.  There  was  the  cottage, 
the  tree,  the  grass,  a  tiny  gate,  and  then  a  strip 
•  of  dusty  road  leading  in  one  direction  to  the 
village,  and  in  the  other  to  a  high  hill  where 
some  rich  people  from  a  neighboring  city  had 
summer  residences. 

Coming  along  the  road  from  these  big  houses 
was  an  old  man  in  a  homespun  suit  bearing  a 
spade  on  one  of  his  shoulders  and  walking  with 
the  aid  of  a  stout  stick. 

When  he  got  to  the  gate  of  the  cottage  he 
stopped,  and  staring  from  under  his  heavy  eye- 
brows at  the  little  girl  who  was  literally  dancing 
with  rage,  he  said,  "  Hey,  Tommie,  what's  wrong 
with  you  ?  " 

The  child  started  and  made  an  effort  to  con- 
trol herself. 

"  Come  and  undo  this  bothersome  latch,  will 
ye  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  letting  his  spade  slip  to 
^the  ground,  "it  always  beats  me." 

Tommie  forgot  her  passion  and  ran  to  let 
him  in. 

"  Is  your  mother  in  ?  "  he  asked.  "  No  ?  well 
then  I  will  settle  down  here  for  a  bit,"  and  he 
took  posseission  of  Tommie's  stool. 

"  Would  ye  give  me  the  conclusion  of  that 
wee  bit  dance  ye  were  having?"  he  said  good- 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


321 


naturedly,  yet  slyly.  "  You  reminded  me  of  the 
Highlandmen  I've  seen  flinging  about  their  toes 
when  the  bagpipes  were  going." 

Tommie  hung  her  head. 

"  What  were  you  vexed  about  ?  "  asked  the  old 
man;  "come  now,  tell  me." 

Tommie's  wrath  blazed  up  again.  "  I  hate 
Greta  Moore,"  she  replied  passionately. 

"  Oh,  oh ;  well,  ye're  a  brave  lassie  to  dare  to 
hate  any  one,  especially  when  the  sun's  going 
down  so  fast.  Come,  now,  tell  us  smartly  what 
the  trouble  is,  and  perhaps  before  yon  yellow 
ball  gets  below  the  horizon  we  can  mend  it." 

Tommie  opened  her  mouth,  but  she  was  a 
child  of  few  words  and  no  explanation  seemed 
to  come. 

"  Look  here,"  she  said,  suddenly  picking  up 
the  story  book  from  the  grass  and  laying  it  on 
his  knee.  "  Just  see  that,"  and  she  pointed  to 
the  sketch  that  had  offended  her. 

The  old  man  slowly  drew  a  pair  of  spectacles 
from  his  pocket  and  set  them  astride  his  big 
nose,  and  then  stared  hard  at  the  page. 

He  tried  not  to  laugh,  but  he  could  not  help 
it.  "  My,  but  that's  mighty  clever ! "  he  chuckled, 
holding  the  book  now  near,  now  far  away. 

Tommie  wrathfully  watched  him.  She  saw 
nothing  clever  in  the  sketch. 

"  Who  wrought  it  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  tak- 
ing off  his  glasses  and  wiping  away  a  tear  of  en- 
joyment that  was  trickling  down  his  cheek. 

"  Rob  Gerrish,  I  s'pose,"  said  Tommie  sulkily. 

"Well,  Tommie,  mark  ye  what  I  say — that 

V 


if 


322 


PROUD  TOMMIK 


lad  Ul  make  an  artist.  Come,  now,  be  a  good 
lassie,  let  us  search  into  this  thing,"  and  the  old 
man  dropped  his  finger  on  the  page.  *^  Don't 
fret  ye  so  finely ;  ye'll  wear  all  youl:  flesh  off  your 
bones,  and  you  but  a  bairn.  This  is  you,  Tom- 
mie  Warner,  I  take  it  ?  " 

*'  Yes,"  snapped  Tommie,  and  standing  behind 
him  she  looked  at  the  obnoxious  drawing  over 
his  shoulder. 

It  was  labeled,  "  Proud  Tommie,  the  Wash- 
erwoman's Daughter,"  and  with  a  few  rough, 
strong  pencil  marks  she  was  depicted  as  strolling 
along  the  street,  a  flounced  dress  standing  out 
about  her,  a  smart  hat  on  her  head,  and  a  para- 
sol in  her  hand. 

The  pride  and  haughtiness  of  her  appearance 
were  ludicrous,  while  unmistakably  pathetic  was 
the  smaller  sketch  in  a  comer  of  the  page  of  a 
young  and  slight  woman  who  was  leaning  over 
a  washtub  with  both  arms  buried  in  soapsuds. 

"  Tommie,  Tommie,"  said  the  old  man,  his 
whole  frame  shaking  with  silent  laughter,  "  this 
is  a  bit  hard  on  ye,  1*11  acknowledge  it" 

"  I'll  never  go  to  that  hateful  old  school  again," 
blurted  the  child.  "  It's  just  horrid  in  them  to 
call  me  Proud  Tommie." 

"  I've  heard  them  say  it,"  said  the  old  man, 
closing  the  book  so  that  he  would  not  be  tempted 
to  laugh  again  and  hurt  the  child's  feelings ; 
"  I've  heard  them  say  it,  and  I'm  grieved  that 
you've  gained  yourself  such  a  nickname,  for 
you're  a  good  lassie  in  other  respects." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  proud  ?  "  asked  Tommie. 


me. 


his 


>» 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


323 


"Well,  I*m  not  saying  that  you're  proud, 
lassie,  but  do  you  think  now  that  you  help  your 
mother  all  ye  can?" 

Tommie  gulped  down  something  in  her  throat, 
then  she  said  a  little  shamefacedly,  *^  She  won't 
let  me." 

"  Oh,  aye ;  I  daresay  there's  more  like  her,  but 
perhaps  you  '  don't  beg  hard  enough,  lassie. 
There's  lots  of  tasks  about  the  house  you  might 
do." 

Tommie  felt  the  rebuke,  but  she  was  not  going 
to  admit  that  she  did  so.  "  Well,  anyway,"  she 
exclaimed,  speaking  very  fast,  "  if  I  am  proud, 
I  am  not  half  so  proud  as  Susy  Brown." 

"And  what  has  Susy  Brown  to  be  proud 
of  ?  "  asked  the  old  man,  with  a  comical  gesture. 
"Good  sakes,  to  hear  the  lassies  talk  you'd  think 
they  were  queens  on  their  thrones." 

"This  is  the  way  that  Susie  walks,"  said 
Tommie,  showing  all  her  glittering  teeth  as  she 
laughed  at  the  old  man.  "  Watch  now,  Uncle 
Ben,"  and  crossing  the  grass  patch  she  switched 
the  tail  of  her  cotton  frock  and  lifted  her  stout 
leather  boots  high  in  the  air  as  if  she  spurned 
the  ground  she  walked  on. 

Uncle  Ben  shook  tiis  head.  "  Well,  now  tell 
me,  what  has  Susy  to  be  proud  of  ?  " 

"  Susy's  sister  has  a  gold  ring  with  a  red  stone 
in  it,"  said  Tommie. 

"  Oh,  aye,  a  fine  thing  to  have." 

"And  Susy  is  going  to  have  a  party  next 
month  maybe,"  continued  the  little  girl  her  face 
clouding,  "  and  the/  will  have  a  candy  pull  and 


324 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


a  great  spread  in  the  field ;  and  oh,  Uncle  Ben,  I 
don't  believe  I'll  be  asked." 

"  On  account  of  pride  ?  "  inquired  the  old  man. 

"  On  account  of  the  was!  agy"*^  said  the  little 
girl. 

Uncle  Ben  did  not  reply  to  her ;  he  was  watch- 
ing the  slight,  delicate  woman  of  the  sketch,  who 
waG  coming  up  the  road.  She  was  dressed  in 
black  and  carried  one  arm  in  a  sling. 

"  Well,  mammy,"  cried  Tommie  affectionately, 
as  she  ran  to  meet  her, ''  here's  Uncle  Ben  come 
to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Warner's  pale  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 
"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Primrose,"  she  said ;  "  you 
are  always  kind  in  remembering  us." 

"  You're  a  bit  warm  from  walking,"  said  the 
old  man ;  "  I  guess  we'd  better  go  in  the  house." 

Mrs.  Warner  led  the  way  to  her  small  sitting 
room  and  threw  off  the  shawl  that  she  wore. 

The  arm  in  the  sling  she  did  not  use,  and  the 
old  man,  looking  keenly  at  it,  asked,  "Is  the 
bone  mending  ?  " 

"  Yes,  thank  you ;  the  doctor  thinks  that  I 
shall  be  able  to  use  it  in  a  few  weeks,"  said  Mrs. 
Warner. 

"  'Tis  a  pity  that  you  broke  it  just  now,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  If  it  had  to  be  done,  why  didn't 
ye  do  it  in  the  winter  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Warner  with  a 
sigh.  "  It  is  strange  that  a  fall  on  a  loose  board 
in  the  cellar  steps  could  give  me  all  this  trouble. 
Yet  I  suppose  it  is  all  right  These  trials  are 
for  our  good." 


PROUD  T0MMI8 


325 


» 


**  YouUl  do  no  washing  this  summer  for  the 
fine  visitors,^'  said  the  old  man. 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Warner ;  "  and  how  I  am 
going  to  get  through  the  winter  I  don't  know. 
I  don't  feel  bound  to  tell  all  the  village,  Uncle 
Ben,  but  I'll  tell  you,  that  what  I  get  in  summer 
from  those  rich  people  on  the  hill  keeps  me 
through  the  winter." 

"  Oh,  aye,  I'm  not  surprised,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  'tis  well  known  they  pay  you  well,  and  you're 
quite  a  pet  among  them.  You're  a  kind  of  a 
sister  to  gentle  folks,  your  husband  having  been 
a  scholar  and  a  gentleman." 

*'  I  wish  I  had  had  a  good  education  myself," 
said  Mrs.  Warner  with  a  sigh.  "  I  might  have, 
but  I  never  thought  of  the  good  it  would  do 
me,  and  my  parents  wouldn't  make  me  study. 
Children  don't  understand  these  things." 

*'  I  guess  you've  made  up  your  mind  to  bestow 
a  good  education  on  the  lassie,  haven't  ye?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"  I'd  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone  to  keep  her 
at  school,"  said  Mrs.  Warner  warmly. 

"  She  takes  kindly  to  her  books,  doesn't  she  ?  " 
went  on  Uncle  Ben,  pointing  out  the  window  to 
Tommie,  who  was  under  the  apple  tree  deep  in 
her  story. 

"  Yes,  she  likes  study,  but,"  said  the  widow, 
"  I  wish  this  teacher  would  go  away." 

"Oh,  aye,  I've  heard  others  say  the  same 
thing,"  remarked  the  old  man. 

"  When  my  husband  used  to  teach,"  said  the 
little  woman  warmly,  "he  used  to  put  noble 


336 


PROUD  TOMMIS 


thoughts  into  the  minds  of  the  children  under 
him.  He  was  a  good  Christian  man,  and  I  often 
cry  because  he  is  not  here  to  train  his  little 
daughter.  Oh,  why  are  parents  not  more  care- 
ful about  the  people  they  allow  to  influence  their 
children?  Tommie  is  just  like  wax  in  Miss 
Miller's  hands." 

''  And  Miss  Miller  is  such  a  flibbertigibbet  of 
a  thing,"  said  the  old  man ;  *'  full  of  nonsense 
about  dress  and  ribbons  and  the  like." 

''Yes,  a  poor  little  shallow-pate,"  said  Mrs. 
Warner ;  "  and  she  is  making  the  children  just 
like  her.  There  was  never  any  boasting  or  talk 
about  pride  before  she  came  here,  nor  any  line 
drawn  between  the  families.  I  was  just  as  good 
as  anybody ;  but  may  God  forgive  me  for  judg- 
ing my  neighbor  so  harshly.  I  must  bear  with 
Miss  Miller,  I  suppose." 

"  She's  young,  perhaps  she'll  improve,"  said  the 
old  man  charitably.  "  But  I  must  tell  ye  what 
brought  me  here  and  I  hope  you'll  not  take  it 
amiss.  You  know  the  big  white  house  on  the 
hill,  which  is  Colonel  Warrington's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  was  up  there  to-day  doing  a  bit  of 
gardening,  and  I  heard  Mrs.  Warrington,  the 
colonel's  lady,  asking  one  of  the  maids  if  she 
knew  a  bright  smart  lassie  with  good  manners, 
that  she  could  get  to  come  up  every  day  and 
wait  on  her  daughter.  Miss  Ethel,  who  is  part 
invalid.  I  made  bold  to  speak  up  and  say  I 
knew  such  a  one — a.  child  as  it  were,  yet  she  could 
shake  up  the  young  lady's  cushions  and  run 


(( 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


327 


errands  for  her  and  wash  her  dog  and  such  like. 
Mrs.  Warrington  seemed  not  to  be  taken  with 
the  plan  of  having  a  younglinp;  till  I  mentioned 
it  was  your  child ;  then  she  said,  *  Let  her  come 
and  see  me.' " 

The  old  man  paused  and  waited  for  Mrs. 
Warner  to  speak. 

Her  face  had  grown  very  red  and  she  hesitated 
a  little  as  she  said,  "  You  and  your  wife  have 
been  very  good  friends  to  us,  Mr.  Primrose,  but 
in  this  cas^ — do  you  think " 

The  old  man  put  up  his  glasses  that  he  had 
been  holding  in  his  hands  and  thoughtfully 
scratched  his  nose.  *'  What's  this  nonsense  the 
children  have  of  styling  her  Proud  Tommie  ?  " 
he  asked. 

^'Oh,  that  is  childish  teasing,"  said  Mrs. 
Warner  uneasily.  "  Tommie  boasts  a  little,  es- 
pecially since  this  teacher  came  and  since  she 
hears  the  other  children  doing  the  same  thing, 
of  what  she  considers  our  former  greatness. 
That  we  once  lived  in  a  large  house  and  kept 
a  servant  and  a  pony  carriage  she  thinks  was 
great  magnificence.  There  is  really  no  offensive 
pride  in  the  child.  I  don't  think  it  would  annoy 
any  one  in  the  Warringtons'  position ;  in  fact  it 
might  amuse  them." 

"And  I  suppose  you've  trained  her  to  do 
housework  and  the  like,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  such  things  as  might  be  useful  in  waiting  on 
the  young  lady." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  "  I  have  not." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  daresay  she'll  pick  it  up,"  said 


328 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


Uncle  Bell)  ''  and  most  easily  if  she  brought  her 
mind  to  it." 

"  Tommie  will  do  anything  for  a  person  she 
loves,"  said  Mrs.  Warner.  "  It  is  my  fault  that 
she  does  not  help  me  more.  You  know  what 
children  are  like,  Uncle  Ben." 

"  They're  the  laziest  creatures  that  God  has 
made,"  said  Uncle  Ben.  "  Eat,  sleep,  and  play 
is-  their  doctrine ;  yet  theyVe  got  consciences. 
Talk  to  your  lassie  and  see  if  sheUl  try  going 
on  the  hill ;  'twill  be  a  grand  chance." 

"  Tommie,  Tommie,"  called  Mrs.  Warner  rais- 
ing her  voice,  "come  in,  dear." 

Tommie  put  her  thumb  in  her  book  to  keep 
her  place  and  came  running  to  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  exclaimed,"  this  is  the  meanest 
story." 

"What  is  the  matter  with  it?"  asked  her 
mother,  drawing  the  child  to  her  with  her  unin- 
jured arm. 

"  Why,  it  is  called  *Uttle  MoUie's  First  and 
Last  Lie,'"  said  Tommie  indignantly,  "and  I 
thought  there  would  be  a  dozen  at  least,  and 
there  is  only  one." 

"  My  dearest  child,"  said  Mrs.  Warner,  "do 
you  like  to  read  about  little  girls  doing  wrong?" 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  so  lovely  when  they  are  sorry," 
said  Tommie  enthusiastically.  "MoUie  steals 
her  sister's  necklace  and  it  bums  in  her  pocket 
and  she  tells  stories,  then  she  gets  sorry  and 
prays,  and  her  sister  forgives  her ;  and  I  read  on, 
for  I  thougiit  the  next  story.she  told  would  be 
worse  than  the  other,  but  there  wasn't  any." 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


329 


" Her  first  lie  was  her  last?"  said  Mrs.  War- 
ner. 

"Yes,  mammy  dear." 

"Well,  I  think  you  ought  to  be  glad  of  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be,"  said  Tommie  re- 
luctantly, "  but  I  ain't — I  mean  I  am  not." 

"Tommie  dear,"  said  her  mother  earnestly, 
"  I  want  you  to  be  just  as  good  as  it  is  possible 
for  a  little  girl  to  be." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Tommie  kissing  her,  "  and 
maybe  I  will  be  some  day.  I  try  to  be  now, 
mammy,  that  is,  mother,  really  truly  black  and 
bluely  I  do,  sometimes." 

"  I  know."  said  Mrs.  Warner ;  "  but  it  is  im- 
possible for  you  to  be  good  in  your  own  strength. 
Who  will  help  you,  Tommie  ?  " 

"  Ask  Jesus  to  help  you,  he  will  carry  you 
through,"  whispered  the  child  in  her  mother's 
ear ;  then  she  said  aloud  and  curiously,  "  What 
were  you  and  Uncle  Ben  talking  about  ?  " 

Her  mother's  arm  tightened  around  her. 
"  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said. 

Tommie's  eyes  grew  more  and  more  surprised 
as  she  heard  what  her  mother  had  to  say. 

"  Isn't  that  funny,"  she  remarked,  when  Mrs. 
Warner  had  finished  speaking,  "  that  a  little  girl 
like  me  can  help." 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  up  to  that  big  house  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Warner  anxiously.  "  I  shall  not  force 
you  to  go  if  you  do  not  wish  it." 

"  I  guess  the  girls  will  call  me  Proud  Tommie 
then,"  said  the  child,  laughing  gleefully. 


330 


PROUD   TOMMIB 


Mrs.  Warner  looked  apprehensively  at  Uncle 
Ben.  The  teasing  girls  would  call  Tommie  a 
servant,  she  feared.  "We  can  try  it,"  she  said, 
"  and  if  you  are  not  happy  you  need  cot  stay." 

"  She  isn't  hired  yet,"  said  the  old  man  drily. 
"You  women  are  all  alike  You  think  your 
children  are  jewels  that  all  the  world  is  eager  to 
snatch  from  you." 

"  I  guess — I  mean,  I'd  better  finish  *  Little  Mol- 
lie's  First  and  Last  Lie '  before  I  go  to  bed,"  said 
Tommie  soberly,  "  if  I  am  to  go  to  the  hill  to- 
morrow," and  she  disengaged  herself  from  her 
mother's  arm. 

"Aren't  children  queer?"  said  Mrs.  Warner  as 
the  child  left  the  room.  "  I  thought  she  would 
be  so  excited  that  she  would  not  know  what  to 
say." 

"As  queer  as  monkeys,"  said  the  old  man 
getting  up  to  take  his  leave.  "  I  don't  see  the 
pride  of  this  one  very  much  to  the  fore  in  this 
case ;  but  she  does  not  comprehend  that  she  has 
got  to  work  and  that  the  children's  tongues  will 
wag.  Good-night  to  you,"  and  he  left  the  cot- 
tage. 

Mrs.  Warner  went  to  look  over  her  store  of 
clothes.  The  child  must  wear  her  best  frock  in 
order  to  present  a  good  appearance,  and  yet  sup- 
pose Mrs.  Warrington  wished  her  to  stay — if 
Tommie  were  set  to  work  washing  a  dog,  for 
example,  in  that  thin  muslin,  she  would  ruin  it. 

"  There  is  no  knowing  what  Miss  Ethel  will 
put  her  to,"  murmured  the  little  woman  to  her- 
self.     "I  fancy,  like  most  rich  girls,  sh^e  is 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


331 


Spoiled ;  oh,  my  baby,  how  can  I  let  her  go  out 
into  the  cold  world?"  and  burying  her  face  in 
the  garments  hanging  before  her  she  burst  into 
tears. 

Going  up  on  the  hill  was  not  exactly  a  jour- 
ney into  the  cold  world,  yet  the  poor  little 
mother  felt  that  it  was,  and  for  a  long  time  she 
cried  dismally.  "  I  have  had  such  grand  dreams 
for  her,"  she  said  ;  "  what  a  beginning  is  this ! " 

"  Duty,  duty,"  something  seemed  to  say  within 
her;  "whatsoever  thy  hand  findeth  to  do,  do 
it  with  thy  might,"  and  finally  she  was  com- 
forted. 

"  Mother  dear,"  said  Tommie  sleepily,  when 
she  was  going  to  bed,  "  what  makes  your  eyes  so 
red?" 

"Give  me  your  shoes,"  said  Mrs.  Warner 
evasively,  "  I  want  to  rub  some  polish  on  them 
for  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  think  I  will  cry  now,  'cause  maybe  I 
will  have  to  cry  by  and  by,"  said  the  child 
sagely,  as  she  crept  between  her  sheets. 

She  slept  soundly,  yet  a  kind  of  subdued  ex- 
citement made  her  wake  up  with  the  birds. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  slipped  out  of 
bed  before  her  mother  did.  What  was  the  first 
thing  to  do  in  the  morning? — to  light  the 
kitchen  fire  and  sweep  out  the  front  hall. 

She  seized  a  broom  and  was  just  propelling  it 
with  awkward,  eager  strokes  over  the  matting 
when  her  mother  called  her,  "Tommie,  Tom- 
mie, why  are  you  up  so  early  ?  " 

"I  thought  I  might  as  well  begin  to  help," 


r 


332 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


said  the  little  girl  meekly,  as  she  dragged  the 
broom  behind  her  and  went  to  speak  to  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Warner  fell  back  on  her  pillow  laughing. 
"  See,  child,  you  are  drawing  all  the  dust  back 
again.     Never  mind  sweeping." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  set  the  table,"  said  the 
child  vigorously.  "I  am  going  to  be  smart 
Tommie  now ;  but  first  I  will  help  you  dress." 

After  Mrs.  Warner  had  been  assisted  into  her 
clothes  Tommie  turned  her  attention  to  the 
breakfast  table. 

"  Two  napkins,  two  knives,  four  teaspoons,'^ 
she  murmured,  "  two  plates,  two  cups  and  saucers 
— I  believe  I  have  everything — all  but  the  flow- 
ers," and  she  ran  to  the  garden,  where  she  was 
soon  stooping  over  a  bed  of  dewy  violets. 

Some  of  Mrs.  Warner's  neighbors  laughed  at 
her  for  always  having  a  flower  on  her  table,  but 
she  said  quietly  that  a  love  for  the  beautiful  was 
something  that  even  a  washerwoman  could  cul- 
tivate. 

At  eight  o'clock  Tommie  was  ready  to  start 
for  the  hill,  but  her  mother  detained  her  for  two 
hours,  saying  that  rich  people  did  not  get  up  so 
early  as  poor  ones. 

At  last  when  it  seemed  to  Tommie  that  the 
middle  of  the  day  had  come  she  was  allowed  to 
put  on  her  best  muslin  dress  and  her  turban 
trimmed  with  green  ribbons. 

Her  mother  kissed  her  till  her  cheeks  were 
quite  rosy  and  drew  her  back  and  let  her  go  so 
many  times  that  Tommie  at  last  said  gravely, 


if 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


333 


ii 


"Seems  as  if  I  must  be  a  mouse  that  a  very 
'ffectionate  cat  has  got  hold  of." 

At  that  speech  Mrs.  Warner  smiled  tearfully 
and  let  her  go,  and  Tommie  went  spinning  up 
the  dusty  road,  soon  becoming  nothing  but  a 
little  gray  speck  to  her  mother. 

Tbmmie  went  on  gayly,  sometimes  humming 
a  tune  and  sometimes  stopping  to  pick  a  flower 
and  stick  it  in  her  belt  till  at  last  she  came  in 
sight  of  a  big  square  house  that  seemed  to  frown 
down  on  her  from  the  top  of  the  hill. 

Then  she  began  to  feel  a  little  timid  and  to 
wish  that  her  mother  had  come  with  her.  She 
did  not  know  that  Uncle  Ben  had  said,  "  Let  the 
lassie  go  alone.  Mrs.  Warrington  is  a  proud 
woman,  and  if  you  went  and  there  was  any  hag- 
gling with  her  she'd  get  impatient.  Tommie 
will  not  be  afraid  of  her,  and  the  lady  is  one  to 
do  the  honorable  by  ye." 

Tommie  went  slowly  up  the  steps  and  pulled 
the  door  bell.  What  was  it  her  mother  had  told 
her  to  say  to  the  maid  who  would  open  the 
door?  Is  Mrs.  Warrington  in?  No,  that  was 
not  it.  Is  Mrs.  Warrington  at  home,  and  if  she 
is,  please  tell  her  that  Mrs.  Warner's  little  girl 
that  she  sent  for  has  come. 

Tommie  thought  she  had  rung  the  bell,  but 
she  really  had  not  and  no  servant  appeared.  She 
did  not  venture  to  pull  it  again,  but  stood  first 
on  one  foot  and  then  on  the  other  her  eyes  lifted 
to  the  sky  and  her  lips  repeating  her  message 
louder  and  louder  in  her  intensity  of  anxiety 
lest  she  might  forget  it 


334 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


^'Is  that  some  one  preaching  on  the  front 
doorstep  ?  "  said  a  gentleman  who  was  sitting  in 
the  near  dining  room,  and  he  got  up  and  walked 
to  the  window. 

Tommie  did  not  see  him  nor  observe  his 
astonished  stare  through  his  eye-glass,  but  went 
on  with  her  lesson,  "  Is  Mrs.  Warrington  at 
home,  and  if  she  is,  please  tell  her  that  Mrs. 
Warner's  little  girl  that  she  sent  for  has  come." 

Colonel  Warrington  gave  way  to  silent  laugh- 
ter. "  Do  come  here,  Gertrude,"  he  said  looking 
over  his  shoulder,  "  and  tell  me  what  this 
means." 

Mrs.  Warrington  put  down  her  coffee  cup  and 
went  to  his  side. 

*'  That  is  an  odd  specimen  of  humanity,"  said 
the  gentleman;  "she  looks  like  a  little  race- 
horse." 

Tommie  certainly  was  not  beautiful.  She  had 
a  dark,  lean  face,  small  eyes,  hair  of  a  peculiar 
shade  of  brown,  and  she  was  at  the  awkward 
age  of  growing  out  of  her  clothes. 

"Yes,  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington,  her 
glance  running  critically  over  Tommie's  lank 
figure ;  "  but  she  seems  wiry  and  energetic." 

"  What  do  you  want  of  her  ?  "  asked  Colonel 
Warrington. 

"  To  wait  on  Ethel." 

"  That  child  !  " 

"  To  wait  on  her,"  remarked  the  lady  with 
some  irritation,  "  not  to  work  hard.  There  are 
enough  servants  in  the  house,  and  really  it  is 
very  depressing  for  Ethel  to  have  so  many  grown 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


335 


people  about  I  thought  at  first  this  child  would 
be  too  young ;  but  I  really  believe  she  will 
amuse  Ethel." 

"  Oh,  very  good,  my  dear,  very  good,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

"  Let  us  have  her  in,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington 
ringing  the  bell,  "  I  want  to  ask  her  some  ques- 
tions. 

Just  as  Tommie  was  beginning  to  get  a  little 
tired  of  "  Is  Mrs.  Warrington  at  home,  and  if 
she  is,"  etc.,  a  maid  in  a  very  white  dress  and  a 
very  white  cap  stood  suddenly  before  her. 

"  Come  in,"  she  said  hurriedly  without  listen- 
ing to  a  word  of  Tommie^s  carefully  prepared 
message.  Down  in  the  kitchen  she  had  heard 
three  peals  of  the  dining-room  bell,  which  meant 
"  There  is  some  one  at  the  front  door  whom  you 
have  not  admitted." 

"  In  here,"  said  the  maid  swiftly  opening  the 
dining-room  door. 

Tommie,  intensely  interested,  gazed  straight 
before  her,  and  then  made  a  bow,  fearful  and 
wonderful  in  its  angularity,  to  the  combined 
splendor  of  the  room  and  its  occupants,  for  her 
mother  had  warned  her  not  to  rush  up  to  the 
people  at  the  big  house  with  her  little  brown  paw 
outstretched,  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  the  lady,  and  the  gentle- 
man made  Tommie  a  grand  military  bow  that 
caused  her  to  say  later  on  to  her  mother  in 
enthusiastic  tones,  "  He  bent  himself  just  like  a 
bit  of  whalebone,  mother ;  just  like  a  bit  of 
whalebone." 


S3^ 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"You  are  Mrs.  Wamer^s  daughter,  are  you 
not  ?  "  said  the  lady ;  "  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Tommie,  madame "  then  the  little  girl 

stopped  with  deep  anxiety  on  her  face.  She  was 
inwardly  determined  to  help  her  mother  and 
put  this  a£Fair  through  in  a  creditable  manner 
and  she  knew  that  she  must  pay  attention  to 
details. 

"Would  you  mind  telling  me,"  she  asked 
nervously,  "  if  I  should  say  madame  or  ma'am 
or  missis  to  you  ?  I  just  forget  what  my  mother 
said." 

"  Madame  is  very  good,  ma'am  a  little  better 
perhaps,"  said  the  lady  encouragingly. 

"  I'm  much  obliged,"  said  Tommie,  then  she 
went  on  like  a  little  wound-up  talking-machine. 
"  My  name  is  Tommie,  short  for  Thomasina — ^my 
dear  papa  was  called  that ;  he  has  been  dead 
ever  so  long ;  he  was  a  terrible  good  man,  and 
there  was  a  long  piece  about  him  in  the  paper 
when  he  died.  I  guess  Susy's  Brown's  father 
won't  have  half  as  long  a  piece  when  he  dies.  I 
hope  I  may  be  faithful  in  all  things  and  do  my 
duty  in  every  walk  of  life.  The  girls  call  me 
Proud  Tommie,  but  I  am  not  except  just  a  little 
bit,  and  I  never  tell  stories.  Susy  does ;  she  says 
her  mother  used  to  have  four  silk  dresses,  but  I 
know  she's  stretching.  Anyhow  it's  silly  to  talk 
about  clothes ;  my  mother  once  had  three  silks,  a 
green  and  a  spotted  and  a  tabby-color.  She  wore 
the  tabby-color  when  she  got  married.  Then  it 
was  cut  up  to  make  a  pelisse  for  me  and  there's  a 
sample  of  it  at  home  in  the  ebony  work-box. 


"'r'lw.'wiii 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


337 


That  was  one  of  my  mother^s  wedding  presents. 
She  got  a  butter  knife  and  a  book  mark  and " 

"  Can't  you  stop  this  flow  of  eloquence,"  mur- 
mured Colonel  Warrington  in  an  undertone  to  his 
wife. 

"Would  you  like  a  glass  of  milk?"  asked 
Mrs.  Warrington  politely. 

"If  you  please,"  said  Tommie;  "my  throat 
does  feci  rather  dry." 

Colonel  Warrington  reached  out  his  hand  and 
seizing  a  pitcher  of  milk  from  the  breakfast  table 
hastily  poured  out  a  glass  of  it. 

"  And  you  think  you  would  like  to  come  and 
wait  on  my  daughter  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Warrington. 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  What  wages  would  you  expect?  "  asked  Colo- 
nel Warrington  mischievously. 

Tommie  rolled  her  round  black  eyes  toward 
him.  "  I  never  thought  to  ask  my  mother  about 
that.     Would  fifty  dollars  a  week  be  too  much  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  cannot  a£Ford  to  pay  you  that,"  said 
the  gentleman  holding  his  newspaper  very  high 
so  that  his  laughing  eyes  just  peeped  over  at 
Tommie.  "  Perhaps  my  wife  could ;  she  has 
lately  come  in  possession  of  some  money." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  little  too  much  for  me 
also,"  said  !«irs.  Warrington  shaking  her  head. 

"  I  wane  to  get  all  I  can  for  mother  to  live  on 
next  winter,''  said  Tommie ;  "  but  I  would  not 
want  you  to  rob  yourselves.  Let's  say  five 
cents." 

"  Five  cents  a  minute  or  an  hour  or  a  day  ?  " 
asked  Colonel  Warrington. 

w 


338 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"Oh,  five  cents  a  week,"  replied  Totnmie; 
"could  you  pay  that?" 

"  1*11  ask  my  banker,"  said  Colonel  Warring- 
ton.    "  I  am  just  going  to  write  to  him." 

"  Suppose  I  take  you  to  see  Miss  Ethel  before 
we  make  any  final  arrangements,"  said  Mrs. 
Warrington  rising. 

"  Goal-bye,"  said  Tommie  cheerfully  to  Col- 
onel Warrington,  "  in  case  I  don't  see  you  again." 

"  Good-bye,"  said  the  gentleman  with  another 
bow. 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  gentleman,"  said  Tommie 
as  they  went  out  into  a  handsome  hall ;  "  but  I 
am  glad  he  isn't  my  husband." 

Mrs.  Warrington  stopped  w^th  her  foot  on  the 
lowest  step  of  the  staircase.  "What  do  you 
mean,  little  girl?"  she  said  haughtily. 

"  'Cause  he's  a  tease,"  said  Tommie  doggedly. 
"That's  what  I  mean,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Warrington  stifled  a  laugh.  The  child 
was  sharper  than  they  thought  her.  Then  she 
opened  the  door  of  a  room  where  there  were 
sunshine,  flowers,  and  a  beautiful  girl. 

She  lay  on  a  sofa  drawn  across  a  window,  and 
her  head  with  its  curls  of  light  hair  was  propped 
on  her  crossed  arms. 

"Well,"  she  said,  turning  a  pair  of  bright 
blue  inquiring  eyes  on  them. 

"  This  is  the  child  whom  I  told  you  about," 
said  Mrs.  Warrington  significantly. 

"  Oh,  indeed ;  come  here,  child,  and  let  me 
look  at  you,"  said  the  young  lady  languidly. 

Tommie  gravely  placed  herself  at  the  foot  of 


.\ 


Eimie ; 

rring- 

before 
Mrs. 

>  Col- 
g^ain." 
lother 

^tntnie 
but  I 

>n  the 
o  you 

gedly. 

child 
sn  she 
J  were 

^,  and 
opped 

bright 

bout," 

et  me 

ly- 

foot  of 


' 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


339 


n 


3 
'u, 


I 

S 


the  sofa.  "Are  you  Miss  Ethel?"  she  asked 
curiously. 

"  Yes ;  why  do  you  ask  ?  Don't  I  look  as  you 
thought  I  would  ?  " 

"I   thought   you  were  sick,"  said  Tommie, 

**  and  old — heaps  older  than  I  am,  and,  and " 

and  without  finishing  her  sentence  she  let  her 
eyes  wander  around  the  room. 

"  Well,  I  am  neither,"  said  the  girl  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  am  not  very  sick,  as  you  call  it,  and 
certainly  I  am  not  old,  as  my  years  number 
eighteen,  and  as  for  being  ugly,  if  I  can  believe 
my  glass  and  my  friends,  I  am  not  that." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  asked  Tom- 
mie bluntly. 

"  I  have  a  weak  back,"  said  the  girl  tossing 
back  her  hair,  "  and  my  doctor  says  that  I  think 
it  is  weaker  than  it  really  is.  I  suppose  a  per- 
son in  your  walk  of  life  would  call  me  lazy." 

"  I'm  no  walker,"  said  Tommie  briskly.  "  I'm 
a  runner,  and  I  couldn't  have  a  weak  back — I'd 
break  it.  Look  here,"  and  ducking  her  head 
she  tumbled  her  little  round  cap  off  into  her 
hands. 

"  I  don't  see  anything  more  remarkable  about 
you  with  your  hat  off  than  with  it  on,"  said 
Miss  Ethel,  "  except  that  your  hair,  which  is  the 
present  fashionable  color  of  brickdust,  is  consid- 
erably faded  on  the  top." 

"  That's  from  running,"  said  Tommie. 

"  Indeed !     I  don't  see  the  connection." 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Tommie,  trying  to  look  at 
the  top  of  her  head  in  a  near  glass ;  "  that's 


ii 


340 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


where  the  faded  spot  is.  After  school  we  have 
such  fun  running  races  on  the  meadows.  When 
the  wind  blows  it  make  me  crazy.  I  tie  my  hat 
like  this,  see — "  and  she  strung  her  unfortunate 
Sunday  turban  to  her  belt —  "  then  I  shake  my 
head  and  run.  All  summer  I  wear  no  hat,  and 
by  fall  my  head  is  yellow  on  the  top;  then 
mammy  shears  me  like  a  sheep." 

"  The  sun  fades  your  hair  does  it  ?  "  said  Miss 
Ethel. 

"  Yes,  lots,"  said  Tommie.  "  Mammy  says  it 
is  a  mercy  I  don't  get  a  sunstroke.  I  have 
promised  her  to  wear  my  hat  the  rest  of  the 
summer." 

*'  Take  this  child  away,  ma  inkre^^  said  Miss 
Ethel  in  French.     "  She  displeases  me." 

"  Tommie  did  not  know  French,  but  she  saw 
the  young  lady's  gesture  and  caught  the  disdain- 
ful accent  of  the  words  cet  enfant 

With  her  eyes  almos*-  starting  from  her  head 
in  anxiety  she  said,  "  I  thought  at  first  maybe  I 
would  like  to  come  on  the  hill,  but  now  I  am 
here  I  don't  like  it  much.  Everything  is  big 
and  lonely,  and  you  seem  queer ;  but  I'll  put  up 
with  lots  of  things  if  you  will  only  keep  me.  I 
will  wait  on  you  real  well.  I  can  run  like 
sixty." 

Mrs.  Warrington  said  nothing  and  Miss  Ethel 
continued  to  stare  at  her. 

"Can't  you  keep  me?"  Tommie  continued 
plaintively.  "  I  want  to  help  my  mother  and  I 
am  sorry  I  used  to  be  lazy.  If  I  don't  stay 
mother  will  be  real  disappointed,  and  I  guess  we 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


341 


will  be  plumb  poor  this  winter.  I  will  wash 
clothes  or  do  anything.  I  am  not  proud.  Proud 
Tommie  is  only  a  nickname,"  and  she  gave  a 
quavering  little  laugh.  "Why,  I'll — I'll  even 
wash  your  clothes  for  you." 

Poor  Tommie  !  and  she  hated  the  washboard. 

"Mother,"  said  Miss  Ethel,  flinging  one  of 
her  white  arms  impatiently  over  her  head,  "this 
girl  will  get  on  in  the  world.  If  we  both  started 
now,  she  and  I  without  a  cent,  she  would  beat 
me  in  the  race.  Look  at  her.  Isn't  she  the  pic- 
ture of  resolution  ?    How  old  are  you,  child  ?  " 

Tommie  stood  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  her 
slender,  lean  neck  stretched  forward,  and  her 
dark,  thin  face  aglow  with  excitement.  Her 
whole  appearance  was  not  unlike  that  of  the 
little  racehorse  to  which  Colonel  Warrington 
likened  her. 

"  Well,"  she  said,  pausing  an  instant  to  think 
of  a  diplomatic  answer,  "  I  am  only  ten  by  the 
big  Bible,  but  if  you  saw  me  work  you  would 
think  I  was  a  hundred." 

Miss  Ethel  burst  out  laughing.  "Let  her 
stay,  mother.     Let  her  stay,  by  all  means." 

About  three  o'clock  that  afternoon  Mrs.  War- 
ner, looking  toward  the  hill,  saw  something  like 
a  dusty  comet  coming  in  her  direction. 

"  There  is  my  child,"  she  said,  her  mother's 
heart  stirring  gladly  within  her. 

"Well,"  she  said  breathlessly,  as  Tommie 
pulled  up  at  the  gate ;  "  what  kind  of  a  time 
have  you  had  ?  '* 


342 


PROUD  TOMMI^ 


Tommie  looked  tired.  "I  have  had  an  ele- 
gant time,"  she  gasped,  sinking  on  the  low 
stone  step  in  front  of  the  door,  "just  elegant; 
but  I  am  glad  to  get  home,"  and  an  immense 
relief  was  in  her  tone  as  she  glanced  at  their 
little  brown  cottage.  "  I  have  had  lots  of  fun, 
lots.  I  think  it  is  a  beautiful  thing  to  work  and 
earn  money." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  I  talked  to  Miss  Ethel ;  first  she  was  kind  of 
cross." 

"  Cross ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  Yes,  but  I  guess  she  was  sorry  after,  I  mean 
I  think  she  was,  but  she  didn^t  say.  They  didn't 
want  me  much,  but  I  begged  like  ten  dogs  to 
stay." 

"Ten  dogs,"  said  Mrs.  Warner;  "Oh  Tom- 
mie !  And  they  didn't  want  you  ?  Here,  child, 
drink  some  of  this  cool  well  water,  your  face  is 
like  a  poppy." 

Tommie  drank  the  water,  fanned  herself,  and 
bet\7een  whiles  gave  her  mother  a  jerky  account 
of  the  hours  spent  on  the  hill. 

"  But  I  stayed,  and  I  am  to  go  to-morrow,  and 
I  washed  Miss  Ethel's  dog,  and  when  I  said  I 
had  on  my  best  dress  she  laughed.  He  is  a  curly 
fellow,  and  when  you  throw  a  ball  out  of  the  win- 
dow he  runs  and  gets  it — ^and  I  had  dinner  with 
a  lot  of  women  in  white  caps,  only  they  didn't 
call  it  that." 

"  Lunch,"  suggested  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  Yes,  and  curly  dog  Dover  followed  me  and 
begged  for  scraps  of  meat,  and  Miss  Ethel  gave 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


343 


me  some  strawberries  and  cream  in  her  room 
and  Dover  begged  for  them,  and  when  he  got 
them  he  made  a  face.  He  will  eat  biscuits, 
though — ^buttered. " 

"Does  Miss  Ethel  walk  downstairs?"  asked 
Mrs.  Warner. 

"  Yes,  with  a  stick ;  and  I  asked  her  if  I  could 
go  for  a  drive  with  her  to-morrow,  and  she 
laughed  and  said  yes.  '  She  laughs  all  the  time ; 
and  before  I  came  away  she  said  maybe  she 
would  give  me  a  party  in  that  grass  field  in 
front  of  her  house." 

"  On  her  lawn,  you  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Warner ; 
"  but  surely,  Tommie,  you  must  be  mistaken." 

"I  am  not,  mammy  dear.  I  told  her  how 
mean  Susy  Brown  is,  and  she  said  what  could  I 
do  to  make  Susy  real  mad,  and  I  said  if  I  could 
give  a  party  she  would  be  madder  than  hops." 

"  Oh,  Tommie  !  " 

"  Then  I  was  sorry,  like  IJttle  Mollie,  and  I 
said  wouldn't  it  be  better  to  heap  coals  of  fire 
on  her  head,  and  Miss  Ethel  said  yes,  that  would 
burn ;  and  we  are  going  to  give  a  party  that  will 
beat  her's  hollow,  and  ask  her." 

"  And  be  nice  to  her  ? "  said  Mrs.  Warner, 
"  and  not  let  her  feel  that  you  are  trying  to  show 
off?" 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Tommie  indifferently ;  "  only  I 
hope  she  will  have  the  sense  to  be  ashamed  of 
her  mean  tricks." 

"You  are  very  hot  and  very  excited,"  said 
Mrs.  Warner.  "  I  think  I  never  saw  you  so  much 
so.     You  must  stop  talking  and  lie  down." 


I 


344 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"  I  am  to  be  there  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning,"  said  Tommie  as  she  stretched  herself 
on  the  black  haircloth  sofa  in  the  parlor,  "  and 
Miss  Ethel  says  I  am  the  funniest  little  girl  she 
ever  met,  and  the  most  ridge — ridge — it  is  some- 
thing like  ridgepole." 

"  Original  ?  "  said  her  mother. 

"  Yes,  that  is  it,"  said  Tommie.  "  Oh,  mam- 
my, why  isn't  everybody  born  rich  ?  It  is  such 
fun  to  have  a  beautiful  house  and  beautiful 
clothes  and  beautiful  things  to  eat." 

"Tommie,  Tommie,"  said  her  mother,  "riches 
are  a  snare  and  a  temptation  very  often.  Don't 
you  know  the  Bible  says  so?  Don't  wish  too 
much  to  be  rich.  I  want  you  to  be  a  ladylike, 
well-educated  little  girl,  but  it  seems  to  me  now 
that  if  I  had  my  own  way  I  would  not  be  will- 
ing for  you  to  have  much  money." 

"  I  could  give  lots  of  parties  if  I  was  as  rich 
as  Miss  Ethel,"  said  Tommie. 

"  There,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Warner,  "  your  first 
thought  is  of  self-indulgence." 

"  What  is  that,  mammy  ?  " 

"  Why,  having  a  good  time  yourself.  People 
who  have  money  should  spend  it  on  others." 

Tommie  thought  a  moment,  then  she  said, 
"  Couldn't  you  do  both  ?  " 

"  A  great  many  people  besides  you  have  said 
that,  my  child ;  but  you  will  find  that  the  usual 
effect  of  riches  is  to  harden  the  heart." 

"  I  would  like  to  try  being  a  rich  girl,"  said 
Tommie  drowsily,  but  before  the  words  were 
fairly  out  of  her  mouth  she  had  fallen  asleep. 


PROX7D  TOMMIE 


345 


While  Mrs.  Warrer  sat  beside  her,  demure, 
pink-cheeked  Susy  Brown  came  tripping  up  the 
walk  and  knocked  timidly  at  the  front  door. 

"Come  in,  Susy,"  said  Mrs.  Warner  looking 
over  her  shoulder. 

Susy  minced  into  the  parlor,  and  staring  in 
astonishment  at  the  prostrate  figure  on  the  sofa 
said :  "  I  thought  Tommie  was  up  at  the  War- 
ringtons\" 

"She  was  there,"  said  Mrs.  Warner;  "she  has 
just  come  home." 

Susy  cast  a  decidedly  anxious  glance  at  the 
sleeper.  "Did  she  have  a  good  time,  Mrs. 
Warner  ?  " 

"  She  says  that  she  did ;  of  course  she  had 
some  work  to  do  in  waiting  on  Miss  Ethel." 

"Oh,  but  that  ain't  real  work,"  said  Susy 
still  in  a  dissatisfied  way,  "like — like  washing 
clothes.  Ma  says  she  wishes  she  had  known 
iabout  it.  I  would  love  tc  drive  around  with  a 
young  lady,  and  fp^cl  her  dog  and  shake  her 
pillows.  Uncle  Ben  says  that  is  all  Tommie  h..s 
to  do.  It  ain't  being  a  servant,"  and  Susy  curled 
her  lip  at  the  word. 

"  To  be  a  servant  is  an  honorable  thing,"  said 
Mrs.  Warner. 

"  No  it  ain't,"  said  the  little  girl ;  "  'sense  me 
for  contradicting." 

"  Jesus  Christ  made  himself  a  servant,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Warner.  "  We  are  put  in  this  world  to 
minister  to  each  other.  There  is  no  more 
glorious  calling  than  that  of  serving  another. 
Nothing  ought  to  be  too  humble  for  us  to  do." 


346 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


"  Now,  Mrs.  Warner,"  said  the  child,  "  would 
you  go  out  as  a  hired  girl  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Susy,  if  I  thought  it  was  my  duty." 

"I  wouldnH,  and  I  don't  believe  Tommie 
would,"  said  Susy.  "  Uncle  Ben  says  she  isn't 
a  servant,  she  is  Miss  Ethel's  little  *chiffioner.' " 

Mrs.  Warner  said  nothing  for  a  long  time ; 
she  was  puzzling  over  Susy's  last  word.  "  Do 
you  mean  her  little  chaperon?"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes'm ;  and  I  have  come  to  see  if  Tommie 
will  come  to  my  party." 

"  I  think  she  will  be  delighted  to  do  so ;  when 
does  it  take  place?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  Susy;  "in  a  few  weeks,  I 
guess; 
now." 


I'll  let  her  know.     I   must  be  going 


"Can't  you  wait  a  little  longer?"  said  Mrs. 
Warner  politely,  and  Susy,  trotting  one  foot 
comfortably  as  she  swung  to  and  fro  in  a  little 
rocking-chair,  sat  for  an  hour  asking  questions 
innumerable  about  the  Warringtons'  household. 

Miss  Ethel's  back  was  getting  stronger,  there 
was  no  doubt  about  it,  yet  Tommie  continued  to 
go  up  the  hill  to  wait  on  her. 

Miss  Ethel  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  little  girl, 
and  though  some  of  her  young  lady  friends 
laughed  at  the  way  in  which  the  village  child 
was,  as  they  said,  "dragged  about"  with  her 
superiors.  Miss  Ethel  paid  no  attention  to  them. 

There  was  a  vast  difference  in  the  minds  of 
these  young  ladies  between  living  in  the  village 
and  living  on  the  hill. 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


347 


Tommie  did  not  appreciate  this  difference,  and 
Miss  Ethel,  who  was  of  a  mischievous  disposi- 
tion, liked  nothing  better  than  to  engage  Tom- 
mie in  a  discussion  with  some  of  the  young 
ladies  whose  airs  and  graces  laid  them  open  to 
rebuke. 

"  It  is  delicious  to  hear  the  child  take  them 
down  without  intending  to  do  so,"  said  Miss 
Ethel  one  day  to  her  father.  "  Her  ideas  of  life 
are  so  much  purer  and  more  unselfish  than  theirs. 
I  feel  a  miserable  egotist  when  I  listen  to  her." 

"  Don't  spoil  her,"  said  Colonel  Warrington. 
"  You  will  be  going  away  by  and  by." 

"I  am  going  to  look  after  her,"  said  Miss 
Ethel  with  a  little  willful  movement  of  her  head. 
"  Tommie  is  a  plucky  child  and  deserves  some 
help  in  the  race  for  a  place  in  the  world." 

Colonel  Warrington  smiled  as  she  walked 
away.  She  was  very  like  him,  this  pretty  light- 
haired  girl  of  his,  much  more  like  him  than  any 
other  child  that  he  had. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  her  taking  an  interest  in 
something,"  he  murmured.  "We  really  are 
under  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  her  protkgke. "  Then 
he  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  said  aloud  to  his  wife : 
"There  comes  Trotters  streaking  up  the  road 
wich  the  usual  cloud  of  dust  in  her  wake.  What 
energy ! " 

Trotters  was  a  nickname  bestowed  on  Tommie 
by  Miss  Ethel,  and  in  the  white  house  she  was 
more  generally  known  by  it  than  by  her  own. 

"  Miss  Ethel  is  on  the  tennis  lawn,  Trotters," 
he  said  when  Tommie  halted  before  him.     "The 


348 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


doctor  gave  her  permission  to  knock  about  the 
balls  a  little.     Go  and  help  her.*' 

"Pm  late,". gasped  Tommie ;  "but  I'll  make  it 
up 


)> 


"  What  a  conscience,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  I 
wish  that  washerwoman  could  be  induced  to 
bring  up  some  more  members  of  the  rising 
generation." 

Tommie  ran  under  the  trees  to  the  back  of  the 
house.  There  was  Miss  Ethel,  with  a  racquet 
in  her  hand,  just  about  to  throw  a  ball  into  the 
air.  "  Go  to  the  other  side  of  the  net,  Tommie," 
she  said,  "  and  play  with  me." 

"  If  you  will  just  wait  a  jiffy,"  said  the  child 
dropping  on  the  grass;  "I  feel  like  a  steam- 
engine." 

"  Bah,  I  am  thoughtless,"  said  the  young  lady 
looking  down  at  her.  "  You  would  let  me  kill 
you.  Trotters,  I  believe." 

"  Maybe  I  would  and  maybe  I  wouldn't,"  said 
Tommie. 

"  Oracular  as  usual.  Tommie,  what  do  you 
think  is  going  to  happen  to-day  ? '' 

"  Are  you  going  to  a  party  ?  "  asked  Tommie. 

"Bless  the  child!  you  think  a  party  is  the 
most  delightful  thing  in  the  world.  No,  my 
youngest  brother,  Reggie,  is  coming  to  visit  us." 

"  Is  he  like  you  ?  "  asked  Tommie. 

"  He  is  a  great  tease,"  said  Miss  Ethel. 

"  Will  he  tease  me  ?  "  inquired  Tommie. 

"  He  will  tease  everything  and  everybody,  in 


the  house,  from  Dover  up.     Perhaps  you 
better  not  come  here  while  he  is  at  home." 


had 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


349 


)) 


»» 


i-il 


t 


f 


"  Miss  Ethel,"  said  the  little  girl  scrambling 
to  her  feet,  "  let's  play  now,  let's  do  anything, 
but  don't  keep  me  from  coming  here.  If  I 
couldn't  come  on  the  hill  I'd  get  to  be  crazy, 
like  young  Sam  Pickles." 

"Why,  are  you  so  fond  of  me?"  asked  Miss 
Ethel  much  gratified. 

"  No,  I'd  rather  be  with  my  mother ;  but  if  I 
don't  work  for  you  the  money  will  stop,  and 
what  shall  we  do  next  winter  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  child,  don't  fret,"  said  Miss  Ethel 
lightly.     "  You  shall  not  sufifer  next  winter." 

"  I  like  you  too,"  said  Tommie,  "  just  heaps, 
and  I  don't  mind  doing  things  for  you,  'cept 
when  you  keep  me  running  too  much.  I  guess 
I'll  miss  you  when  the  freezes  come  and  you 
have  gone  away." 

Miss  Ethel  laughed  again.  "You  shall  see 
me  again  next  summer,  child.  Come,  now,  let 
us  have  some  tennis.  Ah  !  there  goes  the  dog- 
cart.    Father  is  just  setting  out  to  get  Reggie." 

"  Am  I  keeping  you  from  going  ?  "  said  Tom- 
mie politely.  At  times  the  idea  that  she  was  a 
guest  on  the  hill  was  very  strong  in  her  mind. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Miss  Ethel.  "  It  is  a  long,  hot 
drive.     Let  us  play  some  before  Reggie  comes." 

An  hour  later  the  dog-cart  crawled  slowly  up 
the  steep  hill.  Colonel  Warrington  and  a  young 
man  with  a  head  of  thick,  light  hair  sat  on  the 
front  seat. 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  house  the 
young  man  began  to  wave  his  hat  at  all  the  front 
windows,  and  as  soon  as  the  cart  pulled  up  before 


350 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


the  front  door  he  sprang  out  and  threw  his  arm 
around  his  mother.  '*  How  do  you  do,  mamma ; 
and  where  is  sister  ?  " 

"  Out  in  the  hammock ;  let  us  go  to  her. 
She  feels  the  heat,  now  that  the  sun  is  getting 
high." 

The  two  went  slowly  over  the  grass  until  they 
came  in  sight  of  Miss  Ethel  lazily  swinging  in 
a  hammock,  when  Mr.  Reginald  bounded  ahead 
and  pretended  to  shake  her. 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  to  meet  me,  Miss 
Lazybones  ?  *' 

Tommie  gazed  curiously  at  the  newcomer, 
who  turned  suddenly  to  her.  "Who  is  this 
young  lady  ?    Won't  you  present  me  ?  " 

Miss  Ethel  chuckled  with  glee.  She  certainly 
had  effected  a  change  in  Tommie's  appearance 
during  the  weeks  that  she  had  been  coming  on 
the  hill.  The  faded  light  hair  had  been  neatly 
cropped.  Tommie's  face  was  rather  aristocratic, 
if  it  was  lean,  and  she  had  on  a  made-over  dress 
of  Miss  Ethel's — a  brown  gingham  with  little 
streaks  of  red  that  was  most  becoming  to  her — 
while  her  legs  and  feet  were  neatly  encased  in 
black  stockings  and  shoes. 

"  This  is  the  queen  of  Ashantee,  Reggie," 
said  Miss  Ethel,  "  and  she  is  here  looking  for  a 
shipment  of  nice  young  men,  to  be  sent  to  her 
native  country." 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me,  madam,  I'd  rather  not 
make  your  acquaintance,"  said  the  young  man, 
bowing  low ;  "  you  would  be  sure  to  want  me." 

Tommie  scrutinized  him.     She  felt  that  she 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


351 


was  getting  used  to  the  ways  of  polite  society, 
and  she  did  not  feel  at  all  embarrassed.  *'  How 
do  you  do  ?  "  she  said  agreeably.  *'  Have  you 
got  any  old  postage  stamps  ?  " 

"  Lots  of  them,  heaps,  barrels,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  I'm  making  a  collection,"  said  Tommie. 
Then  feeling  that  the  hint  was  sufficient,  she 
laid  her  little  brown  hand  on  the  hammock  and 
again  began  to  swing  Miss  Ethel  to  and  fro. 

Mrs.  Warrington  soon  went  away  and  the 
brother  and  sister  left  together  laughed  and 
talked  of  matters  as  foreign  to  Tommie's  under- 
standing as  if  she  had  really  been  the  queen  of 
Ashantee  that  Miss  Ethel  had  called  her. 


in 


)) 


Tommie  thought  that  Mr.  Reginald  was  a  de- 
lightful young  gentleman  and  his  teasing  was  so 
good-natured  that,  far  from  being  annoyed,  she 
rather  seemed  to  like  it. 

Late  one  afternoon,  when  it  was  beginning  to 
get  cool,  Miss  Ethel  looked  up  from  a  book  that 
she  was  reading  and  said  to  Tommie,  "  Here  is  a 
German  word  that  I  don't  understand.  Go  down 
to  the  library  and  get  me  the  dictionary — the 
German  dictionary." 

"  If  I  was  a  little  German  girl  maybe  I  would 
find  it  quicker,"  said  Tommie  slowly,  putting 
down  her  picture  book. 

"Look  here  at  these  crazy-looking  letters," 
said  Miss  Ethel, "  the  dictionary  will  have  plenty 
of  them  in  it." 

Tommie  nodded  her  head,   and   with   Miss 


^^      V     Tvto. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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1^5  ^U  1 1.6 


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Sdenoes 

Corporation 


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as  VVIST  MAM  STMn 

WnSTIt,N.Y.  USM 

( 71* )  •71-4503 


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^ 


.^ 


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352 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


Ethel's  dog  at  her  heels  ran  nimbly  downstairs 
and  opened  the  library  door. 

"  Hello  !  "  said  some  one.  "  What  is  that 
language  ?  " 

Tommie  started  ;  she  had  not  seen  Mr.  Regi- 
nald sitting  half  buried  in  one  of  the  big  chairs 
in  the  library. 

"I'm  talking  German,"  she  said,  "to  'tract 
the  'tention  of  the  German  dictionary." 

"  Talk  away,"  said  the  young  man,  "  and  see 
if  it  will  come  to  you." 

"  Onery  orery  ickery  Ann,  filsy  falsy  Nicholas 
John,  sweemy  swimy  Tommie's  kitten,  speak 
book  speak." 

"Here  I  am,"  said  a  squeaky  voice  which 
came  from  Mr.  Reginald's  lips,  but  Tommie 
pretended  to  think  that  it  came  from  between 
the  lids  of  a  black  book  to  which  he  pointed. 

"  Thank  you,  book,"  she  said  gravely,  taking 
it  up. 

Mr.  Reginald  sat  with  his  back  half  turned  to 
a  large  table  that  stood  near  an  open  window. 

"  Oh,  my  I "  said  Tommie  suddenly  as  she 
passed  by  the  table. 

Mr.  Reginald  turned  round.  "  Isn't  that  fine  ?  " 
he  asked,  looking  at  the  contents  of  the  little 
velvet  box  that  had  caught  Tommie's  eye. 

Tommie  stood  clasping  the  dictionary  to  her 
breast.  "I  wish  Susy  Brown  could  see  that. 
Her  sister's  ring  ain't  anything  to  it" 

Mr.  Reginald  smiled.  It  was  very  unlikely 
that  there  should  be  anything  in  the  village  to 
equal  his  valuable  diamond  ring. 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


353 


"  Is  it  for  you,  Mr.  Reggie  ? "  asked  Tommie 
in  childish  curiosity. 

"  No/'  he  said,  "  it  is  for  a  young  lady." 

"  And  did  you  buy  it  with  your  own  money?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  and  a  pretty  penny  it  cost. 
I  am  going  to  be  married  some  day,  Trotters,  to 
the  most  charming  girl  in  the  world.  Look 
here ! "  and  he  drew  a  photograph  from  his 
pocket. 

"  You — ^to  be  married,"  said  Tommie,  drawing 
back  and  staring  at  him  in  undisguised  astonish- 
ment. 

"  Yes,  why  not?    Everybody  knows  that." 

"  Well,  I  declare !  "  said  Tommie ;  "  mother 
says  you  look  like  a  boy." 

"  Run  away,  child,"  said  the  young  man,  turn- 
ing to  his  book  with  a  laugh  ;  "  you  speak  un- 
pleasant truths.  However,  tell  your  mother  that 
I  am  twenty-five." 

Tommie  stood  for  a  few  instants  by  the  table, 
then  he  heard  the  door  close  behind  her. 

He  read  on  without  interruption  for  some 
time,  then  the  door  opened  again. 

This  time  his  mother  stood  before  him.  "  Did 
the  ring  come  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  he  said  springing  up ;  "  Ethel 
thinks  it  is  a  beauty,  and  I  hope  you  will.  Why, 
where  is  it?"  and  he  drew  back  the  hand  which 
he  had  stretched  out  toward  the  table. 

Then  he  frowned  a  little.  "  That  child  must 
have  taken  it ;  how  tiresome." 

"What  child?"  asked  Mrs.  Warrington  in 
surprise. 


354 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"  Wait  a  minute,  mamma,"  he  said ;  "  I  will 
get  it,"  and  going  into  the  hall  he  went  upstairs 
two  steps  at  a  time. 

His  sister  looked  up  inquiringly  when  he  en- 
tered her  sitting  room,  and  Tommie  crawled  out 
from  under  the  table  where  she  was  playing  with 
the  dog. 

"  Will  you  give  me  back  my  ring  ?  "  he  said, 
holding  out  his  hand  toward  Tommie. 

"  What  ring  ?  "  asked  the  little  girl  meekly  as 
she  scrambled  to  her  feet. 

"My  ring,"  he  said  impatiently;  "the  one 
you  took  from  the  table  downstairs." 

"Why,  I  didn't  take  any  ring,  did  I?"  said 
Tommie  wonderingly. 

"  You  ought  to  know,"  he  said ;  "  come,  I  am 
waiting." 

"  I  guess  he*s  gone  crazy,  like  young  Sam 
Pickles,"  said  Tommie,  addressing  her  remark 
to  the  dog. 

"  Ethel,"  said  the  young  man  turning  to  his 
sister,  "  will  you  get  it  from  her  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  are  talking 
about,"  said  Miss  Ethel.     "  Do  explain." 

"  It  is  Violet's  ring  that  I  am  trying  to  get.  I 
had  it  on  the  table  in  the  library.  This  child 
was  looking  at  it,  then  she  left  the  room ;  when 
I  put  out  my  hand  to  take  it,  it  was  gone." 

"  Most  mysterious,"  said  Miss  Ethel.  "  Trot- 
ters, are  you  sure  you  did  not  take  it  ?  " 

"  Sure,"  said  the  little  girl,  with  an  aggrieved 
glance  at  Mr.  Reginald.  "  I  wouldn't  touch  his 
old  ring  for  fifty  hundred  dollars." 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


355 


"  You  had  better  search  her  pockets,  Ethel," 
said  Mr.  Reginald  quietly. 

"  I  haven't  any  pockets,"  said  Tommie  indig- 
nantly. "I  have  to  carry  my  handkerchief 
here,"  and  she  patted  her  waistband. 

"  What  is  all  this  discussion  about?  "  said  Mrs. 
Warrington  suddenly. 

She  had  followed  her  son  upstairs  and  now 
stood  beside  the  little  group. 

"  Perhaps  Mrs.  Warrington  has  it,"  said  Tom- 
mie with  relief.  "  Let  me  feel  in  your  pockets, 
ma'am.  Your  hands  are  big  and  won't  go  down 
far ;  mine  will  reach  to  the  bottom." 

"Stand  back,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington, 
as  Tommie  advanced  with  outstretched  arm. 

"Everybody's  cross,"  muttered  Tommie,  re- 
treating to  the  sofa  with  the  dog. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  ring  cannot 
be  found?"  said  Mrs.  Warrington. 

"  Just  that,  mamma,"  said  Mr.  Reginald,  and 
he  went  over  the  story  to  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Warrington  gazed  in  astonishment  at 
Tommie.  "  Why,  Trotters,"  she  exclaimed,  "  to 
do  such  a  thing  and  then  to  deny  it ! " 

Tommie  flew  ofiF  the  sofa,  her  wrathful  eyes 
fixed  on  Mr.  Reginald.  "  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Ananias  and  Sapphira  ?  "  she  asked  vehemently. 
"  Do  you  suppose  I  want  to  be  struck  right  down 
this  minute  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Miss  Ethel,  "  we  are 
becoming  melodramatic.  Tommie,  did  you  take 
that  ring  ?  " 

"  No,  I  didn't,"  said  Tommie  wildly ;  "  paint 


356 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


me  black)  paint  me  blue,  scratch  my  face  and 
beat  me  too,  if  I  did." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Miss  Ethel,  turning  to 
her  brother.     "  She  did  not  take  it." 

"Then  where  can  it  have  gone?"  he  asked 
with  a  puzzled  face. 

Miss  Ethel  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  do 
not  know,  but  I  kuQw  that  it  would  be  a  moral 
impossibility  for  this  child  to  lie.  She  might 
take  something  in  a  fit  of  temper " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,"  said  Tommie,  from  the  sofa. 

"But  she  would  never  lie  about  it,"  Miss 
Ethel  went  on. 

Mr.  Reginald  pat  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  muttering,  "It  is  a  most  singular  thing," 
went  away. 


(( 


Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington,  "this  is 
very  disturbing.  Ring  the  bell,  child.  We 
must  have  the  servants  search  the  whole  house." 

"  And  the  grass  under  the  window,  mamma," 
said  Miss  Ethel.  "  The  wind  might  have  blown 
it  out." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington,  "there 
hasn't  been  a  breath  of  wind  to-day." 

Miss  Ethel  sat  looking  earnestly  at  Tommie. 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  go  and  help  look 
for  it  ?  "  asked  the  little  girl. 

"  No,  no.  Trotters ;  you  won't  be  of  any  use, 
and  my  brother  is  a  little  annoyed.  You  had 
better  go  home."  ' 

"  All  right,"  said  Tommie  stoically,  and  she 
was  soon  trotting  down  the  road  at  her  usual 
gait. 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


357 


Mrs.  Warner  was  in  great  distress  of  mind. 
She  had  heard  Tommie's  story  and  she  sat 
silently  wringing  her  hands. 

Fortunately  Uncle  Ben  came  strolling  along 
the  road,  and  she  poured  her  troubles  into  his 
sympathetic  ear. 

*^  ril  mind  the  house  and  do  you  go  up  to  see 
Mrs.  Warrington,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Warner  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl  and 
hurried  toward  the  hill.  Her  arm  was  out  of 
the  sling  by  this  time,  but  she  would  never  be 
able  to  use  it  for  hard  work  again,  the  doctor 
said. 

Mrs.  Warrington  was  at  home,  but  could  not 
see  her.  She  was  entertaining  some  friends  at 
dinner.  Miss  Ethel  would  give  her  a  few  min- 
utes, the  maid  said. 

The  young  lady  soon  came  softly  through  the 
hall  to  the  little  room  where  Mrs.  Warner  was 
sitting. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ethel ! "  was  all  that  Mrs.  Warner 
could  at  first  manage  to  say. 

"  Don't  trouble  about  talking  the  thing  over," 
said  the  young  lady  kindly.  "  I  know  what  is 
in  your  mind — ^the  ring  has  disappeared — ^no 
amount  of  talking  will  bring  it  back,  and  the 
best  way  is  to  drop  the  matter." 

"  But,"  stammered  Mrs.  Warner,  "  my  child's 
reputation.  Every  one  will  believe  that  she  is 
a  thief." 

"  That  cannot  make  her  one,"  said  Miss  Ethel. 

"And  the  value  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Warner. 
"You  rich  people  pay  so  much  for  your  jewels." 


358 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"  This  Stone  was  not  so  very  expensive,"  said 
Miss  Ethel.  "  It  was  only — well,  it  doesn^t  mat- 
ter how  much  it  was.  If  it  isn't  found  my 
father  will  probably  buy  another  for  my  brother. 
I  wish  you  would  not  worry  about  the  matter, 
Mrs.  Warner.  My  father  is  looking  into  it,  and 
you  are  safe  in  his  hands.  He  has  examined 
the  servants  and  had  the  grounds  searched,  and 
he  is  going  to  the  village  to  do  something  about 
it.  I  think  he  has  a  clue,  though  he  does  not 
say  that  he  has." 

'^And  he  does  not  believe  that  my  child  is 
guilty,"  said  Mrs.  Warner  eagerly. 

"  No,  no ;  he  said  he  would  as  soon  believe 
that  Reggie  has  it  himself." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Warner 
rising ;  "I  must  not  take  up  more  of  your  time." 

"  Mrs.  Warner,"  said  the  young  lady  a  little 
stiffly,  and  holding  her  pretty  head  very  straight, 
**  I  am  not  by  any  means  a  religious  person,  but  I 
have  often  wanted  to  say  to  you  that  I  think 
you  are  bringing  up  your  child  in  the  right  way. . 
She  isn't  all  the  time  prating  about  being  good, 
but  she  tries  to  overcome  her  faults." 

"  My  dear  little  girl,"  murmured  Mrs.  Warner. 
"  Thank  God  that  she  does  try  to  be  good." 

"  She  has  a  quick  temper,"  said  Miss  Ethel, 
"and  she  is  given  to  laziness,  but  she  strives 
against  both.  I  often  feel  ashamed  when  I  see 
her  battling  with  things  that  I  yield  to." 

"She  does  not  do  it  in  her  own  strength,  dear 
Miss  Ethel,"  said  Mrs.  Warner. 

"No,   I    know  she  doesn't     You    religious 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


359 


people  war  against  your  failings  with  verses 
from  the  Bible  and  scraps  of  hymns,  don't  you, 
and  you  pray  for  strength  ?  I  often  see  Tommie 
in  a  corner  repeating  something  to  herself.  Per- 
haps some  day  I  shall  be  religious  too." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ethel,"  said  Mrs.  Warner. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  the  young  lady  hur- 
riedly. "Let  Tommie  come  to-morrow  just  as 
usual,  and  remember  that  she  always — always 
will  have  a  friend  in  me.  Mary  will  let  you 
out,"  and  with  a  charming  smile  Miss  Ethel 
disappeared. 

"  O  Lord,  touch  that  dear  young  lady's  heart 
and  make  her  one  of  thy  children,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Warner  as  she  left  the  house. 

Half-way  to  the  gate  she  met  a  young  man 
who  looked  like  Miss  Ethel. 

"You  are  Mrs.  Warner,  are  you  not?"  he 
asked,  politely  lifting  his  cap. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  little  woman,  "  and  you  are  Mr. 
Reginald  that  I  hear  my  little  girl  speaking  of." 

"  I  am,"  he  said,  "  and  I  have  stopped  you  to 
ask  whether  she  is  fretting  about  the  little  fuss 
we  had  up  here  this  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Warner  hesitated.  "She  wen*  co  bed 
earlier  than  usual.  I  think  it  did  wo*  y  her, 
but  she  did  not  say  so." 

"She  is  an  interesting  child,  don't  let  her 
fret,"  said  the  young  man  kindly.  "  I  fear  that 
I  spoke  rather  sharply  to  her." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  her  crying  when  she  was 
undressing,"  said  Mrs.  Warner;  "but  when  I 
went  to  her  she  was  singing." 


360 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"  To  keep  herself  from  crying,"  said  the  young 
man.  "  She  is  an  odd  little  mortal."  Then  as 
Mrs.  Warner  went  away  he  murmured  Lo  him- 
self, '*  A  child's  teardrop  is  a  needless  blot  upon 
the  earth." 

On  reaching  home  Mrs.  Warner  said  to  Uncle 
Ben  :  "  I  am  not  going  to  worry  about  this  mat- 
ter ;  God's  hand  is  in  it,  and  as  a  dutiful  child 
I  will  trust  him." 

"The  village  will  be  with  ye  and  the  hill 
against  ye,"  said  the  old  man  shrewdly. 

By  the  next  morning  the  story  of  the  lost 
ring  had  flashed  from  the  hill  to  the  village, 
from  the  village  out  into  the  country,  and  as 
Uncle  Ben  had  prophesied,  Mrs.  Warner's  neigh- 
bors and  acquaintances  and  all  the  people  in  her 
own  station  in  life  were  for  her  and  Tommie, 
and  openly  expressed  their  opinion  that  the  child 
could  not  by  any  possibility  be  a  thief. 

The  people  on  the  hill  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders and  said :  "  Of  course  the  child  has  it.  It  is 
just  what  the  Warringtons  might  expect  for  ele- 
vating one  of  the  common  people  to  the  level  of 
their  own  family.  They  have  treated  her  more 
like  a  child  than  a  servant.  Perhaps  they  will 
change  their  behavior  now." 

One  lady  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  the 
village  people  took  to  robbing  the  residents  on 
the  hill,  she  would  sell  her  fine  house  and  seek 
summer  quarters  elsewhere. 

Tommie  had  heard  none  of  these  things  the 
next  morning,  and  being  young  and  unused  to 


PR0X7D  TOMMIE 


361 


carking  care  of  any  kind,  she  woke  early,  and 
after  begging  for  an  early  breakfast,  ran  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  village.  She  had  a  small 
business  transaction  to  accomplish  there  before 
going  on  the  hill. 

With  surprised  and  gratified  vanity  she  saw 
that  she  had  suddenly  attained  to  a  position  of 
great  popularity.  The  children  came  ninning 
out  of  their  houses  to  speak  to  her,  and  soon 
there  was  such  a  crowd  at  the  comer  that  Tom- 
mie  was  obliged  to  take  Susy  Brown  aside  under 
a  willow  tree  to  name  a  very  serious  proposition 
to  her. 

The  other  children  watched  their  dialogue  of 
nods,  shrugs,  and  mysterious  words  and  gestures, 
and  finally  when  Susy  left  Tommie  and  went 
running  to  her  home,  they  all  settled  around  the 
heroine  like  a  swarm  of  bees. 

Six  parties — to  take  place  at  some  future  time 
— she  was  invited  to  on  the  spot,  and  with  a 
beaming  face  and  escorted  by  a  bodyguard  of 
twelve  girls,  she  at  last  turned  her  face  toward 
the  hill. 

When  she  passed  her  mother's  cottage,  she 
ran  in  to  kiss  her  and  show  her  something  that 
she  carried  carefully  wrapped  in  paper  in  the 
palm  of  her  hand. 

"Seems  as  if  it's  nice  to  be  called  a  thief 
when  you're  not  one,"  said  Tommie  cheerfully ; 
"and  I  never  saw  such  elegant  girls — never, 
mammy ;  and  Miss  Miller  kissed  me  and  gave 
me  this  rosette,"  and  Tommie  drew  a  knot  of 
faded  ribbon  from  her  bosom. 


36a 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


Mrs.  Warner^s  face  grew  a  little  anxious. 
*'  Don't  say  too  much  about  the  vanished  ring, 
Tommie,"  she  said,  "  but  run  away  to  the  hill. 
Oh,  dear ! "  and  looking  out  the  window,  she 
sighed  at  the  flock  of  girls.  "  Well,  it  can't  be 
helped.     Run  along,  pet.'* 

Half-way  to  the  Warringtons'  the  girls  troop- 
ing along  the  road  were  overtaken  by  a  phaeton 
driven  by  a  colored  coachman.  At  a  gesture 
from  one  of  the  two  ladies  sitting  in  front  he 
stopped. 

The  elder  of  the  ladies  looked  at  the  children 
and  said  in  a  sweet  voice,  '*  Is  the  little  thief 
among  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes'm,  yes'm,"  and  Tommie,  blushing 
and  bridling,  was  pushed  forward. 

"Poor  child,"  said  the  lady  solemnly;  "so 
young  to  be  so  depraved.  Yet  I  always  mistrust 
dark-featured  children ;  they  are  like  Indians  and 
gypsies,  don't  you  think  so,  Gwendolen  ?  "  turn- 
ing to  the  other  lady. 

"  Yeth,  alwayth,"  lisped  her  remarkably  pretty 
neighbor. 

Tommie  did  not  quite  understand  what  was 
meant,  but  she  knew  that  she  was  the  subject 
of  their  conversation,  so  she  blushed  and  bridled 
a  little  more. 

"  Are  you  going  to  confess  ?  "  asked  the  lady 
tenderly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tommie ;  "  I  was  dreadful  cross 
yesterday,  and  after  I've  been  like  that  I  have  to 
go  around  asking  people  to  forgive  me." 

The  lady  saw  that  Tommie  did  not  know 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


3^$ 


I 


what  she  meant.  She  was  a  very  clever  lady. 
Her  friends  called  her  "the  diplomatist,"  and 
many  a  secret  had  she  worried  from  the  breast  of 
man  and  woman.  Now  she  would  try  her  hand 
on  a  child.  She  would  cover  herself  with  glory 
if  she  could  induce  this  little  common  village 
girl  to  tell  her  where  she  had  concealed  the 
beautiful  diamond  that  had  been  stolen. 

She  fixed  her  fine  eyes  on  Tommie.  She 
leaned  over  and  spoke  in  a  confidential  tone  and 
with  childish  curiosity.  "  How  I  wonder  where 
that  ring  went." 

Tommie  looked  up  admiringly  at  the  charm- 
ing lady  whose  voice  was  like  music.  "  Well," 
she  said  soberly,  and  pointing  over  her  shoulder 
at  the  village  girls  who  stood  drawn  up  in  a 
staring  group  behind,  "we  were  just  talking 
about  it.  Here  was  the  ring,"  and  Tommie 
pointed  to  the  lady*s  gloved  hand ;  "  there  was 
the  open  window,"  and  she  stretched  out  one  of 
her  arms  toward  the  other  lady  who  was  observ- 
ing her  attentively  from  under  the  shade  of  her 
red  parasol ;  "  and  there  was  the  big  black  table," 
and  she  pointed  to  the  stolid  colored  coachman. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  lady ;  "  go  on." 

"And  the  ring  went,"  said  Tommie,  "just 
went  and  nobody  saw  it.  Maybe  an  eagle  flew 
down  and  took  it  in  his  beak.  Maybe  a  man 
came  down  in  a  big  balloon  and  reached  out  a 
stick  with  a  hook  on  it,  cause  you  know  Mr. 
Reggie's  back  was  half  turned  and  he  could  not 
see  him  when  he  was  reading.  Maybe  a  little 
mousie  crawled  up  the  table  leg  and  mayb( 


3^4 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


"  What  is  that  you  are  holding  so  tightly  in 
your  hand?"  asked  the  lady,  her  sweet  voice 
suddenly  beco  ning  sharp. 

Tommie  blushed  furiously  and  half  uncurled 
her  little  brown  fist  to  see  if  the  treasure  that 
she  had  there  was  safe. 

The  sweet-voiced  lady  did  nothing  so  vulgar 
as  to  snatch  the  tiny  parcel  that  the  child  held, 
yet  it  certainly  slid  almost  imperceptibly  from 
Tommie^s  hand  to  hers. 

"  Drive  on,  drive  on,  Stephen,"  she  cried  ex- 
citedly, while  Tommie  stood  staring  incredu- 
lously at  her.  "I  have  the  ring.  I  have  the 
ring ;  I  feel  it  here  inside  this  paper.  I  said  the 
child  would  carry  it  about  with  her." 

The  coachman  struck  his  horse  smartly  with 
the  whip,  the  phaeton  gave  a  leap,  while  Tom- 
mie stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  dusty  roadside. 

"  Let  me  thee — ^let  me  thee,"  exclaimed  the 
other  lady  in  the  phaeton. 

The  sweet-voiced  lady  looked  over  her  shoulder 
at  Tommie,  who  had  gathered  herself  together 
and  was  tearing  after  them.  "  No,  no,  Gwendo- 
len, you  might  drop  it.  We  are  pursued,  but 
there  comes  Reginald  Warrington  down  the 
road.  He  shall  open  it,  he  shall  open  it  him- 
self." 

The  coachman  held  his  whip  over  the  horse*s 
back,  and  Tommie,  open-mouthed  and  panting, 
ran  as  she  said  she  could,  "  like  sixty,"  through 
the  dust  behind,  while  Mr.  Reginald  rode  smartly 
toward  them  on  his  tall  hunter,  Tartar. 

"  Good  news,  good  news,"  screamed  the  elder 


PROUD  TOMMIS 


365 


tly  in 
voice 

urled 
that 

ulgar 
held, 
from 

d  ex- 
redu- 
e  the 
dthe 

with 
rom- 

i  the 

ulder 
ether 
endo- 
l,  but 
the 
him- 

5rse*s 
Lting, 
ough 
artly 

elder 


lady  in  the  phaeton,  waving  her  hand  high  in 
the  air.    "  The  ring  is  found — the  ring  is  found." 

Tommie,  with  her  mouth  full  of  dust,  gnashed 
her  teeth  at  the  victorious  words.  She  was 
pretty  long-winded,  but  she  could  not  speak  for 
a  few  instants  after  the  phaeton  drew  up  beside 
the  horseman  and  she  flung  herself  on  the  back 
of  it  in  silence. 

Handsome  Mr.  Reginald  looked  at  her  in 
amazement,  and  stooping  down  from  his  horse 
took  from  the  lady's  hand  the  little  roll  of 
brown  paper. 

"  Give  me  my  ring,"  Tommie  managed  to 
gasp  out.     "  You  mean  lady.     You  are  a  thief." 

"  Oh,  protect  me,  protect  me  from  this  little 
cat,"  exclaimed  the  lady  childishly,  for  Tommie 
was  trying  to  climb  into  the  front  seat. 

Tommie  however,  suddenly  abandoned  the 
attack,  for  she  had  just  discovered  that  the  ring 
had  passed  into  Mr.  Reginald's  hands. 

She  hopped  nimbly  to  the  road  and  ran  to 
his  side,  crying,  stamping  her  feet  and  clinging 
to  his  trousers'  leg,  while  she  breathed  out  con- 
fused and  wrathful  exclamations  against  the 
raistress  of  the  phaeton. 

Mr.  Reginald  did  not  quite  understand  the 
situation,  yet  he  saw  that  his  duty  was  to  get  in- 
side the  roll  of  brown  paper. 

"  Yes,"  gasped  Tommie,  "  hurry  up.  Open  it 
quick.  I  wanted  to  give  it  to  you  myself,  but 
you'll  see,"  and  she  shook  her  fist  at  the  phaeton. 
"  You're  worse  than  ten  Susy  Browns.  You — 
you,  oh,  my,"  and  looking  behind  she  bit  her  lip. 


366 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


for  the  village  girls,  breathless  and  panting,  were 
just  drawing  themselves  up  in  a  phalanx  behind 
her. 


Mr.  Reginald  had  at  last  made  his  way  through 
the  network  of  strings,  and  throwing  away  the 
paper,  he  sat  holding  up  a  little  ugly  brass  ring 
in  which  a  red  stone  was  trying  to  sparkle. 

"  There  now,"  said  Tommie  to  the  discomfited 
lady,  who  murmured,  "  Well,  really  this  is  very 
strange.  X  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Reginald,  but 
I  found  the  little  girl  acting  in  a  suspicious  man- 
ner. I  took  the  ring  from  her.  I  thought  it 
was  your  ring.  I  felt  it  through  the  paper.  I 
am  very  sorry." 

Mr.  Reginald  bowed  politely  to  her.  "  I  sup- 
pose you  thought  this  might  be  called  a  case  of 
circumstantial  evidence.  You  knew  that  I  had 
lost  a  ring  and  you  felt  one  inside  this  paper.  I 
am  obliged  for  your  interest,  but  I  must  say  that 
I  should  regret  extremely  to  find  my  jewel  in 
the  possession  of  this  child." 

"It  is  most  unfortunate,"  said  the  lady. 
"Stephen,  I  think  you  had  better  drive  on. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Reginald." 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Mr.  Reginald,  holding 
his  hat  in  his  hand  as  the  phaeton  disappeared. 

Then  laughing  all  over  his  face  he  turned  to 
Tommie. 

She  was  glaring  after  the  retreating  phaeton. 
The  village  girls  had  drifted  away.  It  was  get- 
ting hot  and  the  fun  was  over. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Tommie,   "1*11  have  to 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


367 


to 


forgive  that  lady,  or  maybe  to-night.  Now,  I'd 
like  to  shake  her  like  a  rag  doll." 

"  Poor  Trotters,"  said  Mr.  Reginald,  biting 
his  lip.  Then  he  slipped  off  his  horse.  "  Don't 
you  want  my  handkerchief  ?  You  have  without 
exception  the  dirtiest  face  I  ever  saw." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  said  Tommie.  *'  Oh,  dear,  I  wish 
I  had  a  rocking-chair,  I  am  so  tired." 

Almost  before  the  words  were  out  of  her 
mouth,  Mr.  Reginald  had  her  by  the  shoulders 
and  had  swung  her  carefully  up  on  his  saddle. 

Tommie  had  been  up  there  before,  and  with  a 
grateful,  "  Thank  you,  Mr.  Reggie,"  she  sat  pol- 
ishing her  face  vigorously  and  talking  to  him  in 
broken  sentences.  "  I'm  sorry  I  was  so  ugly  to 
you  yesterday.  I  cried  when  I  said  my  prayers 
last  night,  and  I  wrote  a  *  pology ' — here  it  is — 
and  I  went  to  Susy  Brown  this  morning.  Susy, 
says  I,  I  want  to  trade  for  that  ring  your  sister 
gave  you.  It's  all  over  the  village  about  me 
and  your  ring,  you  know,  so  I  thought  I  would 
make  a  good  bargain.  Susy  she  hemmed  and 
hawed,  but  at  last  she  traded.  I  got  it  for  six 
slate  pencils,  my  best  doll,  five  cents,  and  that 
big  whistle  you  gave  me — ^and  you'll  wear  it, 
Mr.  Reggie,  won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  wear  it,"  said  the  young  man,  slip- 
ping the  ugly  ring  over  his  little  finger.  "  Tom- 
mie, I'll  have  to  beg  your  pardon ;  I  spoke  harshly 
to  you." 

"  Did  you,"  said  the  child  quietly.  "  I  don't 
'member." 

"  Good  child,"  said  the  young  man,  "  you  are 


I 


368 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


more  taken  up  with  you  own  wrong-doing  than 
that  of  others.  It's  the  other  way  with  most 
people." 

He  unfolded  the  half-sheet  of  paper  and  read 
aloud :  "  Before  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  I  apolo- 
gize humbly  and  with  my  heart  for  bad  lang- 
widge  used  in  my  mind  'gainst  a  young  genlman 
called  Mister  Reggie,  hoping  as  he  will  forgive 
yours  truly,  Thomasina  Warner." 

"  The  writing's  bad,  'cause  I  hadn't  any  light 
'cept  the  moon." 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Mr.  Reggie 
gravely,  and  he  folded  the  paper  and  put  it 
in  his  pocket. 

"  Do  you  receipt  it  ? "  asked  Tommie  meekly. 

"  Yes,  I  receipt  it,"  said  Mr.  Reggie,  "  with 
thanks  for  prompt  payment." 

"  That's  good  news,"  said  Tommie  joyfully. 
"  Mr.  Reggie,  I  wish  I  had  a  horse." 

The  young  man  had  turned  Tartar  around, 
and  with  the  bridle  over  his  arm  was  conducting 
Tommie  toward  the  gates  of  his  father's  estate. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  have  one  some  day,"  said 
the  young  man.  "Work  hard  at  your  lessons 
and  try  to  improve  yourself  in  every  way,  and 
when  you  are  grown  up  you  will  be  able  to  sup- 
port yourself  and  buy  many  things  that  ignorant 
and  lazy  people  have  to  do  without." 

Two  weeks  went  by,  the  ring  had  not  been 
found,  and  although  the  subject  was  never  men- 
tioned before  Tommie  by  her  mother  or  the  War- 
ringtons,  she  heard  of  it  in  other  places. 


ope 
wh 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


369 


ng  than 
th  most 

ind  read 
I  'polo- 
id  lang- 
renlman 
forgive 

ly  light 

Reggie 
put  it 

meekly. 
,  "with 

oyfully. 

around, 
iucting 
estate. 
>^,"  said 
lessons 
ly,  and 
to  sup- 
rnorant 


t  been 
X  men- 
e  War- 


To  Mrs.  Warner's  sorrow  her  little  girl  devel- 
oped a  sudden  shyness.  She  would  not  go  any- 
where alone  except  to  the  hill,  and  when  she 
was  there  she  begged  Miss  Ethel  to  let  her  run 
away  if  she  saw  a  stranger  coming. 

One  day  Colonel  Warrington,  in  strolling 
about  his  grounds,  came  upon  Tommie — the 
proud  and  stoical  Tommie — in  tears  under  a 
chestnut  tree.  He  stood  still,  hoping  that  she 
would  go  away  without  seeing  him,  but  she  sud- 
denly threw  herself  on  the  ground  and  extended 
her  arms  to  Miss  Ethel's  little  dog  that  was  fol- 
lowing her. 

"  Oh,  Dover,"  she  sobbed,  "  my  heart  is  most 
broke.  Once  I  was  like  you,  and  played  and 
played.  Then  they  called  me  Proud  Tommie, 
and  I  asked  God  to  let  me  help  my  mother. 
Miss  Ethel  was  good  to  me,  and  Mrs.  Warrington 
and  Mr.  Reggie.  He  didn't  tease  me  much,  but 
the  colonel  did.  I  guess  he  don't  mean  it. 
How  can  he  tell  how  little  girls  feel  ?  " 

The  dog  wagged  his  tail  and  licked  her  face, 
but  Tommie  went  on  more  drearily  than  ever. 
"  The  doctor  says  that  mammy's  arm  can't  work 
any  more.  It  never  can  wash,  and  the  winter 
will  come.  When  Miss  Ethel  goes  away,  and 
Mrs.  Warrington  and  Mr.  Reggie  and  the  colonel, 
what  will  I  do  ?  No  little  girl  that  might  have 
stole  a  ring  can  go  away  and  work,  and  there's 
nothing  in  the  village.  And  mammy  cries  at 
night ;  I've  heard  her.  And,  Dover,  I'm  getting 
tired  of  being  a  little  thief  girl.  Everybody 
says,  She  didn't  take  it,  but  where  is  it  ?    If  it 

Y 


370 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


wasn't  for  mammy  and  Miss  Ethel,  and  Mrs. 
Warrington  and  Mr.  Reggie  and  the  colonel  and 
you,  Dover,  I'd  like  to  die  and  go  to  heaven  and 
be  happy." 

"  Trotters,"  said  a  voice  suddenly  behind  her. 

The  little  girl  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  Oh  it  is 
you.  Colonel  Warrington,"  she  said  with  relief. 
"  It  sounded  strange,  your  voice  did." 

"  What  is  that  little  verse  I  heard  you  singing 
to  my  daughter  the  other  day  ?  "  said  the  gentle- 
man, sitting  down  on  a  circular  wooden  bench 
under  the  tree.  "  Something  about  trials  and 
temptations.     Can't  you  sing  it  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tommie,  "  I  will,"  and  she  began 
in  an  unsteady  voice : 

"Have  we  trials  and  temptations? 
Is  there  trouble  anywhere  ? 
We  should  never  be  discouraged, 
Take  it " 

then  she  broke  down. 

"Well,"  said  Colonel  Warrington,  "take  it 
where?  that's  the  point  of  the  hymn.  Don't 
cry,  child." 

"Take  it  to  the  Lord  in  prayer,"  gasped 
Tommie.  "  But  it  won't  stay  there,  colonel,  it 
comes  back." 

"  Then  what  is  the  good  of  yoU:  religion? " 

"  It's  a  lot  of  good,"  said  Tommie ;  "  and  the 
trouble  doesn't  always  come  back.  Sometimes 
it  stays.  I  guess  it  always  does  if  I  'member  to 
put  it  right.  Jesus  knows  our  every  weakness ; 
do  you  know  that  part,  colonel  ?  " 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


371 


"  I  forget  it ;  sing  it  to  me." 

Tommie  threw  back  her  head  and  sang  like  a 
bird  as  she  sat  on  the  grass  before  him.  Dover 
ran  his  little  soft  tongue  over  her  hands  occa- 
sionally, and  Colonel  Warrington  smiled  at  her, 
and  she  soon  fell  into  a  more  cheerful  mood. 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  back  to  the  house  now,"  she 
said  getting  up  after  a  time.     "  I  feel  better." 

"Trotters,"  said  the  gentleman,  "that  ring 
affair  is  worrying  you." 

Tommie  winced.  She  could  not  bear  to  speak 
of  it  now.  "I — ^s'pose  it — does,"  she  said  re- 
luctantly. 

"  Well,  don't  worry  any  more.  By  this  time 
to-morrow  I  hope  to  have  news  of  it.  Don't  say 
a  word  about  it  though,  and  run  away  now." 

Tommie  stared  at  him,  then  a  bright  smile 
flashed  all  over  her  face,  and  pressing  her  lips 
together  lest  she  should  be  tempted  to  speak, 
she  ran  swiftly  in  the  direction  of  the  house. 

The  next  day  was  wet  and  stormy,  and  Tom- 
mie did  not  go  on  the  hill. 

During  the  morning  Colonel  Warrington  re- 
ceived a  number  of  telegrams  from  a  neighbor- 
ing town.  In  the  afternoon  he  left  home,  and 
in  the  evening  he  returned. 

Mrs.  Warrington,  Miss  Ethel,  and  Mr.  Regi- 
nald were  at  the  dinner  table  when  he  walked 
in  and  sat  down  in  his  usual  place. 

"A  wretched  day,"  he  observed,  then  he 
smiled  as  he  unfolded  his  napkin  and  met  the 
eyes  of  his  family. 


372 


PROUD  TOMMIE 


"  Papa,"  said  Miss  Ethel,  "  I  believe  you  have 
been  away  on  that  ring  business." 

Colonel  Warrington  smiled  again,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  into  his  breast  pocket  he  drew  out 
the  sparkling,  glittering  ring  that  seemed  to  have 
gained  added  brilliancy  during  its  disappearance. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Miss  Ethel  breathlessly.  "  I  am 
so  glad." 

"  Take  it,  Reggie,"  said  Colonel  Warrington 
handing  it  to  his  son.  "And  see  that  better 
care  is  taken  of  it  in  future." 

"  Who  had  it,  papa  ?  "  asked  Miss  Ethel. 

"  An  organ-grinder." 

"An  organ-grinder!  Where  did  he  get  it? 
Did  he  steal  it  ?  " 

"  No,  or  rather  yes  and  no." 

"  But  how  could  he  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady. 
"  How  did  he  get  into  the  room  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  get  into  the  room,"  said  her  father. 

"  Did  he  have  a  monkey  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Regi- 
nald. 

"  Yes." 

"Oh,  and  the  monkey  climbed  in  over  the 
Virginia  creeper  under  the  window,"  said  Miss 
Ethel. 

"  Precisely." 

"  How  did  you  find  all  this  out  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Warrington.  "I  haven't  heard  before  of  any 
organ-grinder  or  monkey  being  near  the  house 
that  day." 

"  Papa  has  been  quietly  asking  questions  and 
turning  the  thing  over  in  his  mind,"  said  Miss 
Ethel. 


PROUD  TOMMIS 


373 


"  Yes,"  said  Colonel  Warrington,  "  that  is  the 
way  to  find  things  out  in  this  worid.  The  first 
discovery  I  made  was  that  the  diamond  was  not 
in  the  room,  then  it  was  not  out  of  doors,  and 
Tommie  hadn't  it,  and  Reggie  hadn't  it — that 
only  a  beast  or  a  bird  could  have  taken  it  through 
the  open  window  while  Reggie  was  absorbed  in 
his  book.  From  that  it  was  easy  to  get  on  the 
track  of  the  organ-grinder  who  had  that  day 
passed  through  the  village." 

"  He  was  not  on  the  hill,  was  he? "  interposed 
Miss  Ethel. 

"  No  one  had  seen  him  come  up,  but  he  must 
have  been  here,"  said  her  father.  "  I  had  him 
watched,  and  he  soon  gave  himself  away  by  let- 
ting his  thievish  monkey  run  in  at  other  open 
windows.  The  little  creature  is  a  Carthagenian 
monkey,  and  is  as  bright  as  a  child.  I  would 
have  bought  him  only  I  thought  he  might  get 
us  into  trouble." 

*'  And  is  the  man  in  jail,  papa  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Ethel. 

"Yes,  he  is  to  be  tried  next  week.  I  shall 
have  to  be  present.  The  ring  was  found  hidden 
in  his  dirty  clothes." 

"I  am  intensely  relieved,"  said  Miss  Ethel, 
"  and  I  would  give  a  kingdom  to  see  Tommie." 

"  Have  the  brougham  out  and  go  down  and 
see  her,"  said  Colonel  Warrington. 

"  It  is  too  bad  a  night,"  said  his  wife. 

"It  won't  hurt  her  at  all,"  he  said,  "if  she 
drives." 

"  I  am  more  glad  for  Tommie's  mother  than  I 


374 


PROUD  TOMMIB 


am  for  Tommie,"  said  Mrs.  Warrington.  "  The 
poor  woman  has  really  lost  flesh  over  this  thing." 

"Tommie  is  a  child,"  said  Mr.  Reginald,  "and 
her  mother  is  a  woman." 

"A  child,  but  a  remarkably  sensitive  one," 
said  Colonel  Warrington.  "She  has  had  her 
bit  of  suffering  too.  Well,  I  am  heartily  glad 
to  wash  my  hands  of  this  thing,  and  thankful 
that  it  has  ended  so  well." 

Miss  Ethel  hurried  upstairs  and  put  on  a  long 
cloak,  and  then  she  went  to  see  Tommie. 

What  she  said,  what  Tommie  said,  and  what 
Tommie^s  mother  said,  would  take  too  long  to 
tell,  but  one  sentence  apiece  may  be  recorded. 

"I  feel  happy,"  said  Tommie  with  a  sigh, 
"and  little — ^most  as  little  as  Dover.  I  guess 
I'll  never  be  Proud  Tommie  again,  and  I  am 
going  to  work  real  hard  so  I  can  help  mother. 
It's  pleasant  not  to  be  a  thief  girl.  I  guess  those 
folks  on  the  hill  will  be  sorry." 

"  We  propose  to  do  something  handsome  for 
Tommie  in  the  way  of  educating  her,"  said  Miss 
Ethel  with  a  charming,  middle-aged-lady  air. 

Mrs.  Warner  said,  "The  hand  of  God  is  in 
this  thing.  He  never  forsakes  the  widow  and 
the  fatherless  who  put  their  trust  in  him." 


»» 


